That'll Be The Day
by LolaInk
Summary: Just because you're alive doesn't mean you're living, and just because you're dead doesn't mean you're done. Love is forever. Supernatural  1950s-ghost  AU. R&R appreciated.
1. Prologue

_**-Prologue-**_

**Lima, Ohio 1959**

On the top of Winter Hill, on one of the last, few hot days of the summer, he watched the sun slowly sink behind the horizon, bathing everything in a warm, orange glow, and thought about love.

You see, Winter Hill was one of those cliff-side lookout points that teenagers were always using as a place to make out in all those books you read and films you watched; the ones with steamy windows and creaking backseats. The kind of place that love struck kids go to relieve their passions, through clumsy mouths and fumbling hands or worse; and here he was, waiting in his father's Chevy and nervous as hell.

_/We got some clouds movin' in from the west but as long as you're listening to WHMQ you'll know what to do. We're gonna open tonight with a little number from The Penguins.../_

He wound down a window to let the cool, light breeze brush his face, William would be here soon and then it would be okay. They had been doing this all summer and it still didn't stop the butterflies in his stomach or how his hands trembled, they wouldn't quit till he saw the door swing open and that face staring back at him.

Anyway, William had said sundown and he would wait till then, staring into the pink and violet skyline and humming along to _Earth Angel_ on the radio.

_/The time is 8:09 and we're gonna get you feelin' fine! /_

The sky was an inky blue and the radio had turned into background noise when he finally heard the car pull up next to him and shut off its engine.

His stomach clenched.

He heard the door slam shut.

His pulse was racing.

The muffled sound of footsteps.

Under his arms prickled uncomfortably.

Hand on the car door.

Oh God, his face was burning. When did it get so hot?

"Hey."

All at once he felt his chest get tight and his heart leap into his throat. There was that smile that made his head swim, the self-conscious way he ran his hand through his golden-brown hair that made—oh he'd better start speaking before he looked like a fruit loop.

"Hey." He said, rather hoarsely. He noticed the specks on the shoulders of Billy's letterman jacket. "Are you wet?"

"It's starting to rain. Only a little." Billy cleared his throat and slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him.

It was always like this, awkward small talk that didn't really deserve the name because you had to be making coherent sounds for it to be recognised as talking. After a few_ uhms _and _ahs _and nervous laughter he finally blurted out

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Billy smiled and slid his hand on top of the other boy's, "I can't stop thinking about you either," he admitted softly. "It's driving me crazy."

"School's going to start back soon... what are we gonna do?"

Billy pulled a face and looked out the window, taking his hand away and shoving it in his jacket pocket.

"I- I don't know, I need time to think about this you know? I've got to think about college and my Dad and..." He trailed off and shook his head, "sometimes I think this is such a bad idea..."

"No, don't say that! Why would you say that?" He gripped Billy's elbow and tugged him closer, bringing his hand up to turn Billy's face towards him. "Don't you like being with me?"

"Of course I do," Billy sighed.

"Then what's the problem?" He stroked Billy's cheek with his thumb softly. Billy caught him gently by the wrist, drawing his hand away.

"Why do you always call me William? Everyone calls me Billy, you know that."

"Mmm, but only when you're with me are you William."

Billy looked perplexed, "But I still feel like the same person..."

The other boy's face split into a wide grin, "You're so stupid, d'you know that?"

"Shut up."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Billy's cheek, pulling back with a frown as he felt him stiffen.

"What's wrong?"

"I have to tell you something."

"Tell me what?"

Billy chewed on his lip and stroked the arm of the other boy's shirt distractedly. He looked so nervous.

"Is something wrong?"

A flicker of panic darted across Billy's face, but he still didn't make a sound.

"William?"

Billy's blue eyes softened and he stopped chewing on his lip and gave his boyfriend a small, lopsided smile.

"I love you. Honest I do, and...and I never want to be apart from you. I'd never leave you, I promise. I want to be with you till the day you die." Billy let himself breathe.

"Only till the day I die?"

"Forever." Billy said solemnly. "When this is all sorted out, once they understand and don't... we can tell people we're going steady. But not now, not till then. I'm sorry, I love you."

He felt like his heart was about to explode into a thousand tiny, sparkling pieces. He didn't care about any of the rest of it. Billy loved him. _Him. _His William.

"I love you too; and I understand, okay? It's the same for me. It's not wrong, how could it be? They'll have to understand." He closed Billy's hand in his own. "I can wait. I will wait, forever."

He unfurled Billy's hand and pressed the palm to his chest. "Can't you feel my heart beating? That's because of you." His voice was barely a whisper.

_/You're listening to WHMQ Radio, hoping all you late-night lovers aren't caught in the storm. Now here's a little ditty from the city.../ _

Billy's mouth collided with his in a bruising kiss, fingers running through his hair and curling round his jacket, pulling him closer.

There was an octopus in his belly, he was drowning, he felt a million electric shocks explode out of his fingertips and he couldn't stop the trembling of his body or the twitching of his hips. He kissed along the curve of Billy's jaw, a tentative hand creeping under the hem of his shirt making Billy groan into his ear. Carefully, he shifted his weight to slide his knee between Billy's legs.

"Watch the gear stick." Billy warned.

"I'm trying, this is really hard."

"Mmm, I bet it is." Billy nuzzled into the other boy's neck with a grin, making him giggle and roll his eyes.

"You know this is kind of...inappropriate music for making out." He nodded towards the radio which was playing an upbeat Buddy Holly song.

"_ You gave me all your loving, all your turtle doving, _" Billy sang, smiling, and kissed his neck. _"All your hugs and kisses." _

He murmured into the open throat of the dark haired boy's shirt who was pressed tight against him, legs tangled into his, moaning into Billy's hair.

Then someone was wrenching him backwards, Billy's jacket slipping through his fingers with a yelp. Rough hands dragged him under his arms from out the car and threw him heavily to the wet ground.

"The little sicko's got a boner! What a perv!"

He knew that voice, but before he could say anything a boot connected with his ribs, winding him.

"Leave him alone!" He heard Billy yell as he gasped for air against the mud.

"Shut up, Billy! It's for your own good!"

"Can't you see what this little fag has done?"

"He's infected you! You're sick!"

He wiped the rainwater out of his eyes with the back of a trembling hand and blinked up, Billy was being held by two jocks from the football team, his hair plastered to his face. Standing above _him_, however was Chuck Peterson. He was in trouble. Chuck Peterson was a brick shithouse of a kid, a Wide Receiver with a neck as thick as his thighs. There was another kick to his stomach, not as hard this time.

"Get up, shithead."

A glob of spit landed next to him as he pushed himself to his feet.

"What do you want, Peterson?" Even _he_ was aware just how pathetically small his voice sounded, half drowned in the downpour. He could barely stand, still half-bent, clutching at his ribs and spitting water from his face. There was an ominous rumble of thunder.

"We're gonna give you a good dose of medicine and then maybe you'll stay the fuck away from my friend." A crack of lighting lit up the sky, illuminating Peterson's face an eerie shade of blue. "Poisoning his mind, you're one sick fuck." Stonefield had his hand over Billy's mouth and both he and Lipczynski held back Billy's arms as he struggled.

This wasn't happening, he wouldn't let this happen.

"Why don't you take a running jump, creep!" he sneered.

Peterson's hand was on his shoulder then, tight and crushing as he punched one, two, three times into the boy's stomach. The whole world went yellow and black. To his credit, he didn't fall but bent over double and vomited on his shoes. An amazing technicolour yawn. Peterson dropped his grip on him, jumping back away from the vomit.

"He's had enough." He spat disgustedly.

"You think you beat the fag outta him?" That was Stonefield.

"Dunno, the fucking pervert probably liked it from what I saw when we first got him outta the car." He could hear the smirk in Peterson's voice.

That was it, he snarled and pulled himself up, and bringing his arm back he ran at Peterson and swung with all his might. He felt his fist connect with bone, the shock reverberating through his arm all the way up to his shoulder, but he didn't stop. He just kept bringing his fist back and down, back and down. He heard Billy shout out as Stonefield and Lipczynski dropped him to help out Peterson, he heard his name, over and over again his fist hit Peterson.

"Get the fuck OFF ME." Peterson roared, grabbing his jacket and pushing him back with full force.

He felt his heels connect with wet, muddy grass.

He heard the frantic shouts of Stonefield and Lipczynski.

He felt his feet scrabble for balance on the slick ground.

He heard a roar of thunder as if it were underwater, drawn out and far away.

His heel struck the edge of the cliff.

He heard the chorus on the radio.

His legs flew out from under him.

Suddenly the stars were even further away, his hands grasping at thin air.

The last thing he heard was his name.


	2. Chapter 1

**Lima, Ohio 2010**

Kurt stood on the edge of the sidewalk, clutching a brown cardboard box and shivering slightly in the cold air. How could it be cold when it was so sunny out? He shifted the box in his arms, using his thigh to balance the weight, and turned to smile at his dad as he swung open the doors of the rental van.

"So what do you think? Carole and I didn't want you boys to see it until we were ready to move in, wanted it to be a surprise."

"Wow, was the House of Usher not available?"

"Usher? He that rapper fella? The one who always has that little boy with him?"

"Well. You made that sound disturbing." Kurt saw his Dad's face, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Dad. It's great! Frankly, it looks huge!" He wasn't exaggerating; it was far bigger than their old house.

"We wanted to make sure there was enough room for all of us, and with the sale of Carole's place and ours...we had a bit to spend." Burt smiled and clapped a hand to the back of Kurt's shoulder.

"The window on the right, that's our room," Burt pointed up. "The one on the left is yours, and Finn's is round the back next to the spare room. We've got two bathrooms too, so no complaining about not being able to do your 'daily routine'," he chuckled. "C'mon, let's get unpacking before Finn and Carole show up." He dropped his hand from Kurt's shoulder and turned back to the van.

They'd picked his room already? Without giving him a chance to test the layout and decide whether the walls complimented his skin tone? He bit back a retort, he didn't want to put a dampener on the day. If Finn had the better room, he'd just make the boy swap. Throw in a moonpie to cinch the deal or something.

Kurt squinted up at the house, raising a hand to shield his eyes. With its stone coloured walls and cappuccino shutters, it wasn't exactly what Kurt would have picked, but it had character. He could feel the box slipping and brought down his arm and that was when something flickered in the corner of his vision

"Hey Dad, are the moving guys here already?"

"No, they were following us; why?"

"I just thought I saw someone move the drapes up there." Kurt pointed to the top floor window on the left. His room.

Burt frowned and leaned back inside the van.

"Oh Dad, no..."

"Better to be safe than sorry"

Burt had pulled out a baseball bat and was walking towards the front door, glancing up at the window. Kurt put the box back inside the van.

"Dad, don't! It's probably nothing." He pleaded, following Burt into the house and up the stairs. Burt pressed a finger to his lips and backed up against the wall, bat raised. Kurt rolled his eyes, trust his dad to turn this into something out of Miami Vice. Burt crept up towards the door and threw himself shoulder first at it, bursting into the empty room. He rounded the corner into the walk in closet. Seriously? Kurt had a walk-in closet? He had _dreamed _of this day. He would cut Finn if he tried to swap now. _Cut him._

"There's no one here." Burt said, lowering the bat. He sounded a little put out.

"Well I said I_ thought _I saw something, it was probably just the sun in my eyes."

Burt shook his head.

"You're crazy, kid. Did you know that?"

"Thought, Dad. I said_ thought._"

"Right. Come on, those boxes ain't gonna unpack themselves."

Kurt and his dad spent a good hour unpacking the van before Finn and Carole showed up with the moving guys and by then Burt had cottoned on to just how many of the boxes belonged to Kurt. 15 minutes later he got whacked with an umbrella for complaining. By the late afternoon, Carole was arguing with Burt about where to hang her portrait of George W. Bush and Finn had to dig out the takeout menus to avert disaster.

By the late evening Burt and Carole were snuggled on the sofa discussing the possibility of a porch swing and Kurt's room was a stack of boxes and an unassembled bed, whilst Finn's was a mess of trashbags with various sharp looking objects poking through and bundles of clothes tied with sweaters.

"You know that stretches out the arms and ruins the fabric, right?" Kurt said from the doorway on his way back from the bathroom.

"I've got long arms anyway, dude. I'm like Mr Tickle." He stretched his arms, wriggling his fingers at Kurt.

Kurt stared in amazement at his step-brother, "What_ are _you, Finn Hudson?"

Finn scratched his head and blinked. "...a human? Is this a trick question? No, wait! A homo sapien!" He sounded so proud of himself. Kurt shook his head and walked back to his room.

"Goodnight, Finn."

"A homo erectus?"

Kurt shut the door.

When Mercedes called tomorrow, Kurt would spend forever complaining about how much effort it was going to be to unpack all of his stuff and plan a whole new layout for his new room; but he would secretly be pleased and he wouldn't fool Mercedes at all. Right now though, the thought of his mattress on the floor and half a dozen throw blankets sounded like a good idea. He carefully made his bed, dug through a box for his Elizabeth Arden 8 hour cream and turned out his light.

As he made his way back to his bed he could hear a faint, familiar tune and he frowned.

"Finn, stop whistling and go to bed. I'm exhausted."

The whistling stopped abruptly and Kurt crawled into his nest and fell asleep with the chorus from _All I Have to Do Is Dream _looping in his subconscious.

oOo

The next morning, Kurt decided he loved his new bathroom, he loved the cosy den off of the living room, he loved this new kitchen with its butcher's block and chrome worktops, and he hated his new room.

"Morning Kurt, do you want some eggs?"

"Just whites please."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Awful! I had, like, a _million _blankets and I was still freezing. I woke up practically blue."

"Really? Our room was really hot." Kurt tried to ignore the small smile on Carole's face.

"Oh _gross_." Finn ambled in rubbing his eyes and pulled a face, Carole rapped him with her spatula. "Don't be disgusting."

"Maybe my heating's off." Kurt shrugged, putting a pitta in the toaster.

"Do you want your dad to take a look at it?" Carole asked, handing him a plate.

Kurt shook his head, "No its okay, I'll check it later on." He buttered his toast. It wasn't until Carole smiled at him and said, "I've not heard that song in years!" did he realise he had been humming.

When Kurt did finally take a look at his radiator, it was scalding hot.

Kurt barely heard his dad's car pull up, or even the door open. _That's _how pissed he was.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah! Whats going on?"

Both Finn and Kurt started yelling at Burt, Finn gesticulating wildly and Kurt's palm and inch from Finn's face.

"One at a time!"

"He keeps stealing my stuff! It's been going on for weeks!" Kurt screeched, hands on hips.

"No I don't! Why would I? It's not like it would fit me!" Finn gestured to his body.

"Then how comes I keep finding my things in your room, downstairs, the backyard, the kitchen." Kurt ticked off each item on his fingers, glaring at Finn.

"I don't know but it's not me!"

"He's got a point Kurt, what reason would he have to take your stuff."

"Oh how novel, you taking Finn's side," _Ouch_. "He was wearing my sunglasses!"

"I thought you gave them to me! I came into my room, they were on my bed, and I thought it was a present."

"Oh right" Kurt snorted, "give you limited edition pair of Wayfarers."

"Sunglasses." Finn corrected smugly. "Wayfarers are what you wear fishing."

Kurt scoffed and swore in French. He couldn't believe he had ever thought he was in love with this, this _imbecile._

"Are you sure you're not imagining it, Kurt?"

If Burt had hair, it would probably be on fire by now from the intensity of the glare Kurt fixed him with. He folded his arms slowly.

"Kurt." Burt warned. "Look, the two of you can either spend all day yelling? Or you can apologise to each other and help me with dinner."

_"Sorry, Kurt."_

_"Sorry, Finn."_

_oOo_

"Hold still!"

"You keep pricking me!"

"If you keep_ wriggling_ I will keep _pricking_." Kurt jabbed another pin into Finn's arm.

"OW!"

"Sorry, finger slipped!" Kurt smiled beatifically.

"You are one evil little bastard," Finn frowned, rubbing his arm. "Tell me why I'm letting you do this again?"

"Because it saves us a whole load of money we don't have if we make costumes for sectionals, and the only guys who can sew are me and Mike." Kurt folded the jacket's waist and pinned it.

"Mike can sew?"

"And knit, apparently."

"Wow. You learn something new."

"Yeah. Here, move around a bit, tell me how it feels."

Finn looked down at his outfit.

"There's a lot of ruffles."

"Yes, they stop people from staring at your overgrown head. Now move."  
Finn shook his leg.

"Not like that, like... dance around a little or something."

"I was dancing." Finn frowned. "Okay. Uhm..." He swivelled his hips awkwardly and raised a hand in the air.

"Oh. Finn. Stop. You're driving me wild." Kurt monotoned. "Wherever did you get such sensual moves?"

"Shut up, you love my sweet dancing." Finn laughed, wriggling his shoulders and shaking his leg. "Anyway, where did you get this?" He plucked at the bottom of his shirt, "Your Mom's closet?"

Kurt's head snapped back with a start. He felt as if he had been slapped round the face, what the hell? Finn looked up and his grin slipped away as he realised what he had said.

"Oh man, Kurt I—"

"It's fine."

"I didn't even think—"

"Well that's obvious. You know, I think I've got all your measurements and I've got homework to do so you can go now if you want." Kurt started winding his tape measure back up with excess force and turned his back to Finn.

"Are you sure?" Finn asked in a small voice.

"_Perfectly_." He bit out.

He didn't let the tears fall till he heard the door click. He sat down at his dresser and pulled out a Kleenex. He knew Finn hadn't meant to upset him, that 'your mom' jokes were a staple in the football team and that although Finn wasn't stupid, he tended to forget the finer details; but that didn't stop it from hurting. Now that they had moved, everything was different. All those little things that held memories of her, the notches on the kitchen door where she used to mark his height, the roses in the backyard she planted when he was six, they were all gone. And this house, this cold, strange new house, didn't feel right at all.

He traced a finger around the edge of the dresser and sighed. He remembered Finn's dad's chair and how Carole had thrown it out, at least Kurt still had his mom's dresser.

He'd talk to him later, he decided. Let Finn know it was okay. The poor boy had looked so miserable and sad, crushed even.

Kind of like that face in the mirror.

Wait, what?

Kurt whipped round, but there was no one there. He turned back to the mirror. There was nothing there. He checked over his shoulder again. Nothing. Back to the mirror. Nothing. He waited... Still nothing.

"Dad's right. I really am going crazy."

oOo

One second Kurt was closing his locker door, the next he was kissing cold, yellow metal. He peeled himself off of his locker and licked his lip, he could taste blood.

"Careful, Tiny Tears." Karofsky leered, cracking his knuckles. "You might fall into something harder next time." Azimio guffawed and the two high fived before sauntering down the hall.

"Are you okay?" Mercedes pressed a Kleenex into Kurt's hand and stared at him pityingly.

"Oh so _now_ you can speak?"

"Kurt, don't take it out on me."

But he wasn't just taking it out on her, she never said anything. She never _did _anything. No one did. The last month or so Karofsky had really been on his case, not so much with the slushies but pushing him into things, slapping the back of Kurt's head as he walked by and throwing bits of paper at him in class. It was becoming unbearable. Why should he have to put up with this? It wasn't fair, it wasn't the same anymore. Even when Mercedes quit the cheerleading team and stopped dating Puck, people hadn't gone back to giving her a hard time. It hardly happened to anyone else apart from him. And Rachel, but even Kurt would risk detention to sock her one some days. He was breathing heavily now, rubbing his cheek as he stared down the hall.

"Kurt... you need to calm down." A worried tone coloured Mercedes' voice.

"No."

Kurt felt the paper tissue drop from his fingers as he grabbed his bag and broke into a run, ignoring Mercedes' shouts. He had had enough. He saw Azimio point and laugh at him as he skidded round the corner, but he didn't care. Good, that meant Karofsky was on his own. The gym door swung as he barged his way into the room, Karofsky was in front of his locker, poised to take off his shirt. The surprise on his face quickly turned into a cocky sneer.

"What do you want, homo? Come to watch me get undressed?" Kurt's bag swung and hit him square in the chest. "Hey, what the fuck? What's your problem?"

"No, whats your problem?" Kurt yelled back, hand on hip.

"Excuse me?"

"What are you so scared of?"

"Besides you sneaking in here to peek at my junk?"

His _junk?_ Oh ew, Kurt practically gagged at the thought. That was an image he_ never _wanted to have in his head again.

"Oh, every straight guy's nightmare that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you. Well guess what hamhock, you're not my type."

An unreadable expression flicked over Karofsky's face and he clenched his jaw. "That right?" He asked through gritted teeth.

The anger was still bubbling inside Kurt like acid, he sneered "Yeah, I don't dig on chubby boys who sweat too much and are gonna be bald by the time they're thirty."

"Do. Not. _Push_ me, Hummel." Karofsky took a step closer, raising his fist.

"You gonna hit me? Do it." Kurt moved closer to Karofsky, raising his chin defiantly.

"Don't_ push _me!" Karofsky slammed his locker shut, breathing hard through his nose. Kurt decided to dig it in a little harder and leaned closer to the footballer.

"Hit me because it's not gonna change who I am; You can't punch the gay out of me any more than I can punch the ignoramus out of you." He spat.

"Get out of my face." Karofsky was practically whimpering. This was weird, was Kurt actually getting to him? He went in for the kill.

"You are nothing but a _scared_ little boy who can't handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are-"

Kurt's second wave of vitriol was stemmed by the sudden arrival of something warm and wet.  
Kurt felt the scratch of stubble on his chin, the calloused fingers on his cheek and the faint taste of cherry slushie on his lips before he realised what the warm thing was.

Karofsky's mouth.

Kurt snapped back like an elastic band, his hand flew to his mouth. What the hell had just happened? Karofsky wavered a little like he didn't know what to do, a flash of panic appeared in his eyes and he dove towards Kurt again. Kurt's other hand smacked against Karofsky's chest before he could even process the movement. The boy looked like he was about to _cry_. He stared at Kurt for a moment before making a small, frustrated sound and punching his locker. Karofsky half-ran out of the room, Kurt's fingers still trembling against his lips. Fuck, he felt as if his whole body was about to collapse.

He had to get out of here.

Without another thought Kurt grabbed his bag and ran. He didn't tell anyone he was going, he didn't see the Nurse, he just ran, jumped into his car and sped off before he could try and talk himself in to staying. Kurt gunned it home, running a red light without noticing; he barely noticed how managed to get home, how he had entered his room and pulled out a suitcase until his arms were full of clothes. The back of his throat burned and his eyes stung. What had happened? Why had Karofsky- no, no time to think about it. Pack up, get out, and move on. He could call his Dad from his way to Aunt Anne's. He dumped his bundle of clothes onto the bed and began to fold, his breathing tremulous and his vision blurred.

"Running won't help."

"Well, it'll do for now!" Kurt snapped. Wait, who was he speaking to? His dad should be at the shop and Finn was still at school. He spun round and caught a glimpse of something dark and blurry before he blinked away the unshed tears and caught his reflection in the mirror. He was talking to himself and he didn't even realise.

He was going insane.

All the raw emotion that had been keeping Kurt going flooded out of him and he crumpled to the floor, bursting into tears. All the grief, all the frustration, anger, hurt and the sheer shock of Karofsky's kiss came tumbling out with each heart-wrench sob, his face buried in a vintage Chanel cardigan that had once belonged to his mother. Kurt cried until he fell asleep.

When Burt came home, Kurt didn't answer when he called out for him. He checked in on Finn in the den.

"Have you seen Kurt?"

Finn shrugged, "He left early today, I haven't seen him since. Maybe he's on the phone in his room?" And went back to his Xbox.

Burt found his son curled up on the floor, a familiar looking piece of knitwear bundled to his chest. His face was slightly swollen and red around the eyes, Burt didn't have to be a detective to know why; what he didn't understand was why an open case was on Kurt's bed, half filled with hastily folded clothes. He closed the case and put it down by the side of the bed before unlacing Kurt's boots and pulling them off. He remembered doing this for him when he was little and Kurt's feet had been smaller than Burt's hand. Awkwardly he lifted his sleeping son onto the bed and covered him with a throw. Kurt whimpered a little and cuddled into his pillow with a frown, he looked so small and lost.

Burt brushed his son's hair off of his forehead and kissed him goodnight before turning off the light and closing the door behind him.

When Kurt woke up it was dark. His eyes felt gritty and his face felt tacky and stiff. A sliver of moonlight fell through a chink in his curtains and across the lumpy shape of his suitcase next to his bed. He groaned inwardly when he remembered what had happened. He wasn't going to run away, he was just suffering from some sort of delusional breakdown as a result of intense stress... like Demi Lovato. Or, you know. Not.

Something shifted across the room, on the edge of his vision.

Kurt sat bolt upright in bed and glared to where a shadowed figure sat hunched up in the corner. _Finn Hudson, I'm going to bitchslap you into next Tuesday._

"Okay Edward Cullen, you can come out of the corner and get the hell out of my room!"

The shadow twitched as if it had jumped and then

"You can see me?" Came the incredulous whisper from the corner

"Of _course_ I can see you, Finn, I have eyes. Jeez, you kicked up all that fuss about having to share the basement and now you're watching me sleep like some sort of teenage serial killer! As if it wasn't nerve wracking enough having to watch my back at school I—"

"Who's Finn?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Who's Finn?"

The shadow shifted and got up from its crouched position on the floor, it _so_ wasn't Finn, unless Finn had chopped his legs off at the knee... Kurt felt his skin prickle as his heart picked up pace.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit_

"Stay back! I've got a weapon!" he yelped. He his hand dove to the side of his bed and curled around

A foam sword.

A foam sword? Why was there a foam sword in his room? Why was he concentrating on a foam sword when there was a potential stabber in his room? Why did he keep saying the word foam sword? He raised it above his head and brandished it anyway, in what he hoped was a menacing manner.

"That doesn't look like it can do much damage."

"Why are you in my room? _How_ did you get in my room?"

"Well, _technically_, it's my room" the figure took a step forward

"STAY BACK!" Kurt shouted frantically, waving the sword wildly.

"KURT!" Finn came crashing through the bedroom door, wild eyed and bed headed with a pillow in hand. "Are you okay? I heard yelling..."

A pillow? What did he intend to do with that? _Tickle_ the intruder  
to death? Kurt looked back to the corner but...the guy was gone. He looked around his empty room confused, was there ever anyone else in here with him?

"I'm fine, Finn. I just had a bad dream." He said cautiously._ I think._

"Oh... okay. "

"You can go back to sleep now, I'm sorry I woke you."

"Why have you got a foam sword in your hand?"

"I...uh...I don't really know. It's not yours?" Finn shook his head. "Oh."

Finn nodded knowingly, "It's cool. People do crazy stuff all the time in their sleep. This one time, I had a dream I was making out with Coach Sylvester and—"

"OH, GOD. Goodnight, Finn!"

"Do you want some warm milk? I can totally get you some."

"_Goodnight._"

Finn shrugged and ambled into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him and Kurt threw himself back against his pillow with a groan. What the _hell_ had just happened? Was he going crazy from sexual frustration and just imagining boys in his room now? Kurt covered his face with his hands and groaned again. You couldn't make shit like this up...unless you were Kurt, apparently.

"Ah, so _that's _Finn? He sure is a tall drink of water."

Kurt's head whipped round to see the boy standing at the edge of his bed, his eyebrows raised appraisingly. He had some really overly expressive eyebrows; Kurt longed to wax that cocky look right off his forehead.

"_You_!" Kurt's hands flew from his eyes, "where did you come from?" he hissed, pushing himself upright. "Where did you _go_?"

"Did you miss me?" the boy cocked a grin and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Miss you? _Miss you_? I don't even know why you're here. You're not _supposed_ to be here, this is _my_ room!"

"Technically it's _my _room." The boy repeated, dipping his head and wincing in a mock apology.

"Why do you keep on saying that? This is _my_ house, _my _room..." Kurt pointed at his chest, emphasising his words.

"It used to be mine."

"When?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

"Years ago, before I died."

"What?"

The boy shifted slightly so that the pale light from outside illuminated his face.

"I died."

Now that he had stepped into the light, Kurt could really look at the boy. He looked almost ethereal, silverish around the edges and sad. He was short, shorter than Kurt at any rate, and had dark hair parted at the side and smoothed back. The hint of a wave suggested there could be curls under all that product. Was it product? It was slick with something, that was for sure. Kurt crossed his legs and looked at the boy quizzically.

"...You're a ghost?"

"That's what they tell me."

"Who's they?"

"It's a phrase."

Kurt narrowed his eyes, "You just expect me to believe that?" He scoffed.

"It is! People have been saying it for years!"

"Not that, you fool. I'm talking about you being a ghost. What if I don't believe in ghosts? I don't believe in things like that."

"What choice do you have?" The boy shrugged. "It's not like there's any other way of explaining this."

Kurt just stared at the boy hesitantly, his mouth slightly open. His mind was reeling; did ghosts exist outside of religion? What other explanation was there for the boy sitting on the end of his bed? On the other hand why hadn't he—no, he wasn't going to go there.

"Holograms." He blurted out.

"What?"

"You could be a hologram," he said a little more firmly, raising his chin. "It's not unheard of..." _Really? Where?_

"What's a hologram?" the boy asked, puzzled.

"You don't know what a hologram is?"

"I died in 1959." The boy explained with a pointed look. Well, that _would _explain the clothes.

"It's ...it's a thing...a projected image...Oh who cares, you're not a hologram." Kurt snapped. "I've probably gone all John Cusack in Identity and you're just one of my many personalities. Now go away, tuck yourself back into the lobe from whence you came and leave me alone. I've got school in-" Kurt squinted at the red numbers on his alarm, "three hours, ugh."

"Which school?"

"William McKinley... why am I telling you? You're not real!"

"I go there!"

"Aha! See! Not a ghost. Ghosts don't go to school... well, except for in Casper."

"You know what I mean. I went to McKinley, I was on the chess team." He said proudly.

"Fantastic. Hooray for you. Now shoo. Go away. Poof, whatever." Kurt huffed and wrapped his arms around himself. "Why is it always so cold?" he thought aloud.

"Sorry, that's me."

"Oh really? Come on!" Kurt rolled his eyes. "Oooohhhh! My room's cold it must be ghoooosts!" he waved his hands around and scoffed sarcastically. " Yeah, right. Look, if you're going to tell me you're a ghost, you're going to have to prove it."

"That's it?" the boy asked, a smile dancing across his lips.

"Yes."

He shrugged. "Okay, you asked for it." And sat on the bed by Kurt's legs.

"You're not going to..." Kurt wiggled his eyebrows. The boy just smiled and moved closer, arm poised. He certainly didn't look like a ghost... Oh god, Kurt's breath caught in his throat because if he wasn't a ghost, that was even worse. That would mean that Kurt had a strange, teenage boy in his room in the middle of the night— and now that Kurt thought about it, he was a very good looking boy, and his palm was facing the curve of Kurt's lap, hovering above the quilt, and he was smiling at Kurt with those soft looking lips and-

And then his arm was immersed elbow deep into Kurt's stomach.

"_Oh._" Kurt squeaked in a tiny voice.

And passed out.

..

He was being chased.

He was being chased by some really big, slavering, oozing monsters that had escaped from under his bed and they were all wearing varsity jackets and throwing cheeseburgers at him. He tried to tell them he didn't want cheeseburgers! He'd get fat! He didn't want zits, his skin was delicate! But all they would do was open their mouths and scream.

_EEERGH! EEERGH! EEEERGH! EEEERGH!_

"Shut up!" He yelled, ducking a Whopper as lettuce and tomato went flying through the air, ketchup spurting in arcs above his head. They didn't stop.

_EERGH! EERGH! EERGH!_

That wasn't a monster.

_RAA RAA RAA-AA-AAAA!_

Kurt jolted awake to the sound of his alarm switching from siren to Siren. The alarm that told him to stop dithering over his hair and get the hell out of the house._ Shit. _He was going to be late.

_Shitshitshitshit._

Kurt hated being late. He raced through his ablutions, making a silent, frantic promise to himself that he would spend an extra half hour making up to his face for this pathetic excuse for cleansing and toning. He picked an outfit off the top of his head and prayed that no one would notice he wore it last week. Who was he kidding? This was McKinley, the only thing they would notice was that it wasn't from Target.

By the time Kurt made it to homeroom he was red in the face and possibly sweating. He thanked Trésemé for their freeze-hold hairspray as he slid behind his desk.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr Hummel."

Kurt's already lobster-coloured face flushed several shades darker and he turned to smile at Mercedes. She gave him a flat stare in return and tossed her curls off her shoulder, turning away. Great, another lot of damage control he was going to have to run. He felt a tiny tug on his sleeve.

"Kurt..." He turned back to see Brittany leaning towards him. A panicked expression on her face.

"What's wrong, Britt?"

"I think I've time travelled, and I don't know how to get back to the future!" her bottom lip trembled.

"What do you mean?"

"Well..." she looked at Kurt's outfit uncertainly, "It's last Wednesday."

It was going to be one of those kinds of days.

..

"Hey, 'Cedes, wait."

Mercedes swung to face him, her lips pursed and her eyes glittering.

"I'm sorry?" Kurt held out the Frappe hopefully. It worked like a charm, Mercedes' face instantly softened, her mouth curling into a smile.

"Boy, you best have a real good excuse as to your behaviour yesterday. Gimme." She made grabby hands at the coffee and took a sip, closing her eyes blissfully.

"I just had a really rough day, I shouldn't have been so bitchy." He didn't completely mean it, but that wasn't the point. Kurt knew a Mercedes on his side was better than a brick through his window at any cost. Besides, Kurt had his own faults. Mercedes slipped an arm through his and shook her hair.

"No, I'm sorry. It can't be easy having someone beat up on you every day." She said as they set off to the lunch hall. "And you're allowed to be frustrated, just don't take it out on me. Okay?" she rested her head on his shoulder gently and Kurt bit his tongue.

"Of course, never again." He said tightly.

As they approached they got in line Mercedes waved at Santana and Brittany sitting with a few random cheerleaders and Kurt's heart sank. He wasn't in the mood for dealing with Cheerios today. Then he saw Karofsky walk in with Azimio and Jackson, he caught Kurt's eye and his expression darkened. Kurt swallowed thickly and turned back to his friend.

"Mercedes, I forgot. I've got a load of work to finish off for English tomorrow; I have to go to the Library, do you mind?" He put on his most apologetic face and squeezed her shoulder gently. She pouted a bit and looked back to where Brittany was trying to feed Santana yoghurt,

"You're going to leave me with Dumb and Dumbest?"

"I'm sorry; I'll totally make it up to you tomorrow."

"Nah, its fine," she sighed. "But if you _are _driving past that coffee place tomorrow... I wouldn't turn you down." She threw him a cheeky grin and poked his hip playfully. "Call me tonight, okay?"

"Sure." He bent to kiss her cheek.

"Don't forget!" She warned as he walked away.

"I won't!" He called back over his shoulder and saw Karofsky, still watching him from where he was sitting with his friends. Kurt hurried out of the lunch hall without another look.

All day his mind had been going back to the boy in his room. Was he really_ that _stressed out that he was imagining hot boys in his room after dark? No, not hot boys. Irritating boys. Annoying, bushy browed boys who wouldn't let you sleep. If he was an apparition of Kurt's mind, Kurt was obviously trying to commit sanity suicide. Did ghosts actually exist? No. Absolutely not, there was no point questioning it. He just had to call the Doctor Weinberg tomorrow and have himself institutionalised.

Kurt came to a stop and realised he'd been walking without thinking.

Oh.

He was at the library.

Obviously Kurt's subconscious wanted him to get rid of this niggling feeling, why fight it? He sighed and pushed open the door. An amphibious looking girl with glasses thicker than milk bottles glared at him from a table and raised a stumpy finger to her lips. The librarian at the desk looked up at him with a small frown.

"Hello Mrs Elstow."

"You're not here to start dancing again, are you?"

"No."

"Good, I can't stand MC Hammer. What can I do you for?"

"I'm looking for the old yearbooks?"

"On the right, over at the back." The librarian gestured. Kurt nodded in thanks and went to investigate.

The older yearbooks were towards the top of the stacks and Kurt had to use a ladder to reach them. Secretly, he wished it was on wheels like in Beauty and the Beast... but he didn't think Mrs Elstow would have liked that much. He pulled out the 1959 yearbook and sat back down at a table to read.

Flicking through the yearbooks was insane, the amount of bad haircuts, chunky glasses and snuggle-toothed weirdos gave him face ache from recoiling in horror. Even the cheerleaders were a trainwreck of hideous rolled fringes, cat eyes and unibrows. Whoever thought the 50s was a good idea was obviously born in the 70s when _anything_ looked better than avocado walls and orange turtlenecks.

He had gotten halfway through the yearbook and an hour had gone past. He wasn't going to bother with his classes this afternoon, Spanish with Mr Schue who would just pull him aside and tell him he needed to stop rolling his eyes whenever anyone else spoke out loud. Whatever. He was forgetting something, he knew it, but all he could remember from last night was waving a foam sword around. Where _had _that come from? It looked like some relic from a renaissance fair, like the one his dad had taken him to when he was seven, and his Mom went as a barmaid, his Dad as a jester and Kurt went as a knight.

A knight! Suddenly Kurt remembered and he flicked to the societies pages.  
There, in fuzzy black and white, were those eyebrows; beetling out from the page, mocking him in all their Chess Club glory. The rest of his face was smiling earnestly in a sea of uncomfortable looking teenagers. Kurt noticed a little, yellowing cutting from a newspaper tucked in the fold. Carefully he picked it up and walked back to the Librarian.

"Mrs Elstow, do you know about this?" he spun the book around to face her, placing the cutting carefully next to the picture of the chess club.

"Such a nice handsome boy, terrible what happened to him. Of course I was just a sophmore but we all had a crush on Blaine Anderson..." She looked down at the picture with a small smile on her face. _Blaine? _

"So you knew him then? You went to school together?" Just how old _was _Mrs Elstow anyway? Shouldn't she be retired by now?

"Yes, I was friends with his sister Carrie."

"Do you know much about him? About how he died?" Kurt pressed on. He thought he deserved to know if he was going to be sharing a room with this guy. He looked back down at the newspaper cutting in front of him.

**WMHS Teen In Cliffside Tragedy**

The body of 16 year old McKinley High School student, Blaine Anderson was found yesterday morning by Police.

Anderson's body was recovered in the early hours after his father, Tony, had reported his '57 Chevy Bel Air missing. Anderson's body was found halfway down Winter Hill after a heavy storm, with the car left unlocked at the top. Police are treating the situation as suspicious (cont. p4)

"It was just awful. He was a popular boy you know, always involved in the theatre. I remember once he played Romeo for the winter production and oh... he was a _dream_." The librarian's eyes shone as she reminisced. Oh dear, she had had it bad.

"When I was a freshman, I would to go to Carrie's house every day after school just so I could catch a glimpse of him," she giggled. "I even sent him a valentine! Oh and he was such a dear about it? I handed it to him in front of everyone and he said thank you, that it was lovely and... and he took my hand and kissed it."  
Her hands were clasped to her chest and she smiled at Kurt. "He was a lovely boy. It's such a pity that they...Well, never mind."

"What happened?" Kurt pressed.

"Oh... Oh my dear, it's a sad story."

"Please?"

"Well, they never really found out what happened that night. No one knows why he was up there you see. It was a popular make out spot back then, all the girls and their beaus would 'park' on a nice night. But he was alone, his parents didn't know where he was and as far as I knew he wasn't going steady with anyone. Poor Carrie was inconsolable... she skipped town a while after that." Mrs Elstows face had sagged back into a miserable frown. "Enough, my dear. It's not good to dwell on such awful things." She turned away and Kurt saw her pull a handkerchief from her sleeve and dab her eyes.

Why did old people always carry tissues up their sleeves? That was so_ disgusting!_

"Mrs Elstow?" she looked back at Kurt and he placed his pocket square on the desk.

"Thank you."

"Call me Margaret." She said softly, her smile wobbly through her tears.

Kurt smiled back and left the room.

So Blaine _was _a ghost.

And he was going to tell Kurt exactly why he was here.

..

The boy wasn't there when Kurt got home. At least, he didn't appear to be. Kurt put his bag away, took his shoes off and sat cross legged on the bed.

"I'm guessing you're there. So you might as well show yourself."

Nothing.

"I believe you. I found this."

Kurt threw the clipping down on the bed and waited.

Still nothing.

He huffed and threw himself back into his pillows. This was ridiculous. How does one contact the undead? Was he going to have to concoct a sceance with Gina Davis' old clothes? How did they summon Michael Keaton again? Oh yeah. Kurt closed his eyes.

"Beetlegeuse"

"Beetlegeuse."

"B-"

"What's beetle juice, is it like bug juice you get at camp? I knew a kid who had too much once, he said his left foot turned green."

Kurt nearly jumped out of his own skin.

"Oh god! You can't just... turn up like that!" He yelped, throwing a pillow at the boy who had reappeared at the foot of his bed. It sailed through him and landed with a soft -_phut!-_ in the corner.

"I'm sorry, didn't you ask me to come?"

"I meant when I had my eyes open! You scared the living daylights out of me."

"Sorry."

Kurt just glared, and the the ghost gestured to the book on the bed. He wasn't smiling.

"So you found me?"

"It wasn't so hard."

"What's that?" He was looking at the small clipping, a faintly nauseous expression on his face.

"Its the story they ran when they found your body."

He looked as if he was going to faint, his eyes glued to the small, faded scrap of paper. Kurt tilted his head and said softly,

"Blaine?"

The boy stiffened, and he rocked backwards slightly like he'd been struck.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked.

"Its... Its just been a really long time since I've heard my name." He swallowed thickly and rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. "A long time." He echoed in a whisper.

Kurt crawled forward on his bed till he sat in front of Blaine.

"Tell me about it?"

..

A/N: I had some multimedia for this... a picture of Blaine with his Chess Club and the Newspaper cutting but I'm not entirely sure how to make it work on here... sorry folks! Thanks for reading and keep commenting! Next chapter should be along after the weekend :)


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This has been delayed by about a week because I've been confined to my bed due to illness, so I'm sorry for all those I've kept waiting.  
As always, dedicated to **mothergoddamn** who wrote chunks of this chapter in my illness. She's amazing, go read her work, she's my muse, the one I go out walking after midnight searching for

**Chapter Three**

All the sounds in the world were just a distant hum in Kurt's ear the next day at school. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened last night, his mind was reeling. It was as if someone had handed him a Hogwarts acceptance letter. He stifled a yawn, struggling to keep his eyes vaguely focused on the board. He had stayed up half the night talking to Blaine about the unusual circumstances of his death.

_"So they just attacked you? Out of nowhere? How did they even know you were there?" Kurt's voice was incredulous. Blaine shrugged and hugged his knees to his chest._

_"I don't know. Maybe they saw his car next to mine; it was a hot spot." Blaine's voice sounded flat._

_"That doesn't make any sense. Have you ever told anybody else about this?"_

_Blaine just shook his head miserably into his knees. "You're the first person who could see me, let alone who could hear me."_

_"So you've spent all this time alone?"_

_Blaine rested his chin on his knee and pulled a wry face. "Over 50 years... they kind of all roll into one when you're not paying attention."_

_"What did you do all this time?"_

_Blaine frowned and scrunched up his face in thought, "I don't... I can't...I just kind of was? People came and people went, I blinked and it was a new millennium," he sighed heavily and smiled a little at Kurt. "And then you were here."_

Why _was_ it only him who could see Blaine? More than half a century spent in one house and no one had ever mentioned it being haunted. Actually, now that he came to think of it, he didn't know that. He scrawled a note in his binder to check out the history of his house.

If he was going to look into that, why should he stop there? Kurt's lips curled into a smile, he had just thought of a brilliant new plan.

"Mr. Hummel? Sorry to pull you out of your daydream but do you think you could turn to the next page with the rest of class?" The class tittered as the teacher pulled his glasses down to the beak of his nose, looking at Kurt. "I mean, I don't to rush you or anything. It would be just nice for us to share this with you."

Kurt's face felt aflame as he avoided Mr. Clarkson's eyes, instead looking down at the offending book in question and... History? How had it got to last period so soon? Burying his head in the pages he pretended to read about World War II and covertly opened his binder again. Chewing his pen thoughtfully he read over his list. Jennifer Love Hewitt, eat your heart out.

Mr. Clarkson's voice drifted away as Kurt's mind returned to the evening before.

_"So why were you and Billy in the car together anyway?"_

_"We were friends." Blaine said tightly, staring at his hand which he was rhythmically clenching and unclenching into a fist._

_"On Winter Hill? That's where the low and depraved go to get their kicks."_

_Blaine's face remained impassive, eyes downcast._

_"We went to talk. Our friends didn't exactly mix, as you might have noticed." Blaine shrugged and swept his hand through a pillow. Kurt wished he wouldn't, it creeped him out._

_"I don't believe you."_

_"That seems to be your standpoint in life."_

_"I think you liked him." Kurt kept his tone light, his eyes searching Blaine's face for a reaction. Blaine looked up at Kurt and blinked._

_"Of course I liked him, he was my buddy." His voice wavered a little._

_"More than that..."_

_Blaine's eyes flashed, Kurt could see the muscles in his jaw work as he gritted his teeth._

_"It was childish exuberance, nothing more. I was 16; he was an older cat, we were tight. I was excited."_

_Kurt felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise and he shivered, it was colder in the room._

_"Come on, there has to be more to it than that."_

_"No." Blaine's voice was tight._

_"But it doesn't make any sense, why would the beat you up just for talking? Why all the secrecy, just for a friendship?" _

"You won't understand..." _Blaine bit out, his eyes blazing._

_"Try me! It has to make more sense than this anyway-"_

_"ALRIGHT, I LOVED HIM! OKAY?" Blaine roared at Kurt, fists clenched by his sides._

_Kurt's picture frames flew off his shelves with a_ –crack-_,he heard bottles on his dresser fall and tumble to the ground, his bedside lamp flared into a burst of brilliant white before exploding, showering the side with broken glass and plunging them into dusky darkness. Blaine's chest heaved as he breathed heavily. Slowly he released his fist, looking back down at his hands._

_"I loved him," He said quietly, "and there was nothing I could do about it. They thought I was sick... that...that I infected him." Kurt wished he could touch Blaine, to cover the boy's hands with his own, to comfort him._

_"It's okay, I understand. Well, kind of. The only boy I've ever been in love with was Finn..."_

_Blaine shot him a sharp look. "Huh? Only_ boy_...what? He's...your brother?"_

_"He's not my_ real _brother... it's a complicated and very long story. Just... it's okay, alright? Being 'gay' is nothing to be ashamed of," Kurt quirked a smile at the ghost boy staring at him like he had lost his mind. "I'm not."_

Kurt's stomach clenched at the memory of how Blaine's eyes had widened when he had realised what he was trying to say. _"Everyone knows? And no one rags on you?"_ almost no one. Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his seat; he had kind of skated over that with Blaine. He knew he wasn't being entirely truthful with the boy, but he needed to know that things could be better. He had to figure out why Blaine was still trapped on this earth and fix it. Was that crazy? Kurt didn't care, he had to do this! He had to because

"I'm all he has! I have to help him!

"Thank you, Mr. Hummel, that's very kind, but I think General Lee has it covered."  
The class laughed uproariously as Kurt slid low into his chair, heat radiating off him in waves, and waited to be saved by the bell.

.o.

"Back again, Mr Hummel? I don't think I've seen you in the library this much since you found out the truth about those Hardy Boys books..."

Kurt blushed. "I'm actually here to have another peek at those yearbooks."

"Oh, someone's got a spot of McKinley pride!"

Kurt shot her a mock offended look. "I'm doing a project. For Glee club. About our school's old stars."

The librarian's face brightened and she leaned in close to Kurt, "Well, you know_ I _used to be the head Majorette! Youngest one in Ohio!" She confided proudly, Kurt gave her a wan smile and giggled humourlessly, mouthing _oh really? _

"Well, I'll keep you in mind!" He trilled, clutching at his bag strap as he turned to leave. "Oh! Wait a second," He spun back on his heel, one finger in the air. "You may have known who I'm looking for. Tall, blond footballer called William?"

The librarian screwed up her face so tightly in thought that it turned into a mass of wrinkles. Kurt shuddered and made a small promise to himself that he would start on anti-aging products tomorrow.

"No...no. Can't say I do. Sorry, Kurt."

Kurt shrugged a little and wrinkled his nose, "It was a long shot, thank you anyway" and headed off to find the yearbook.

Flipping through the book took him longer than he expected, every 'William' he encountered was either bucktoothed, cross eyed, flat-topped or big nosed. He stared down at the prom page—_Floating on Air! WMHS 1959 Prom_—with a scowl. Either Blaine had some seriously bad taste, or Kurt was missing something.

"Oh,_ Billy_. Is that who you meant?"

Mrs Elstow leaned over Kurt's shoulder and tapped one yellowing fingernail against a picture of a handful of couples dancing in their prom finest. Kurt saw the black and white, grainy imprint of a head of tousled, light hair. Yep! That had to be the guy Blaine was so dreamy over. Wow. _Wow._

"Such a shame, really. He was so talented." Her dreamy expression turned into a scowl. "Don't you shush me, young lady!"

"Did..." Kurt looked down at the smiling couple in the picture. "Did he ever marry? Or, anything?"

"No, strange that. Such a handsome young man. Even now."

"Now?" Kurt asked quickly, his chest tightening in excitement. "He's still in Lima?"

"Indeed. I watched him mowing his lawn this weekend." She touched her lip with a wry grin. "So spry."

Oh ew; this lady had some serious libido issues.

"You're neighbours? I mean, I hope. Otherwise you are taking up some strange hobbies."

"Of course he is! He used to be in my book group! At least until Nora kept banging on about that dirty book with the vampires and shirtless dog children." She trailed off, muttering about the morals of kids today.

Kurt grinned down at the picture. This was almost too easy! Kurt could do this! And then Blaine would cross over, or melt or whatever ghosts did, and Kurt could get a bedroom back rather than a meat locker.

"Mrs. E?" Kurt said. "Where exactly do you live?"

.o.

Kurt decided to kick his plan into action as soon as he got home, which was the reason why Blaine was relaxed now, stretched out on his front, lengthways across Kurt's bed and kicking his heels in the air lazily.

"So, what was Billy like?" Kurt probed gently.

Blaine's face melted into a goofy smile as he cradled his chin in his hands. "A total dreamboat! Oh he was a real A-grade hunk. Dark blond hair, a Hollywood chin, bedroom eyes...and he had these shoulders. Like the shoulders of Adonis or something; out of this world." Blaine closed his eyes, lost in a blissful memory. "He really sent me."

"Sent you? Sent you what?"

"You're such a nosebleed," Blaine chuckled, rolling back onto his elbow to face Kurt.

"Sent me, you know? Like _'Darling, you send me. Honest you do, honest you do'"_ he half sang, fingers tracing an imaginary score in the air.

"That was a thing?" Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Oh, like you kids are any better with your flying Gee Sixes, oriental queens and Pee Daddies, whatever they are. Yeah, I listen to your radio when you're gone." Blaine said proudly, sitting up.

"Oh, so you're why the batteries are always run down?" Kurt scoffed, opening his laptop.

"I'm not crazy about it to be honest. There's no..." Blaine clicked his fingers. "Romance!"

"Romance?"

_"I can only give you love that lasts forever and a promise to be near each time you call, and the only heart I own, for you and you alone, that's all. That's all."_ Blaine sung, and tilted his head. "That's surely better than some cat telling you that he digs you more than a fat child loves cake?"

"Please don't say cat. I feel like I'm in a beatnik poem."

"Beatnik?"

"Oh, maybe just after your time," Kurt muttered, looking through his playlist. "Look, could you float off? For a few hours? I have an assignment for New Directions and I need to pick a song."

"New Directions?"

"It's our Glee club name. You know, Glee? Music? Singing? Dancing? Like choir but not as soul-destroying or fashion backwards. Sometimes. When Rachel isn't there." Kurt spun in his chair. "Go on, Shoo. Finn is showering. Go enjoy." He flapped a hand in the direction of the bathroom.

Could ghosts blush? Because this one was doing his best impression.

"Oh my God! You already have!"

"No I haven't!" Blaine denied in a strangled voice. "I mean, I may have been passing through walls a few times when things were going on but I saw _nothing_. I'm no Peeping Tom." He was trying his hardest to look hurt. Kurt shook his head.

"Whatever, Kevin Bacon. I should just be thankful you're not watching_ me _undress."

"Ha ha, yeah. That would be awkward."

Kurt managed to miss the uncomfortable look on Blaine's face, as he clicked on a song. Did this suit his voice? He might need to slow it down to get near his key or...

"What is that noise?" Blaine's face was scrunched up in a look of disgust. "Is your lap machine broken?"

"It's Ke$ha! She's very in right now." Kurt spun the laptop round to show Blaine the video to the song they were listening to.

"It's a woman? It's music? Did no one ever teach her grammar?" Blaine asked, disgustedly. "Or how to _wash_?"

"No offence, Daddio, but I'm not taking music advice off a dead sixty year old." Kurt said sourly, pulling the laptop back towards him. Blaine peered at the laptop suspiciously.

"You have music on that lappy tv-box-thing?" He asked.

"Yes, pretty much anything."

"Anything?" Blaine grinned, and started reeling off names, making Kurt pull up picture slides and crackling old videos of bands, songs and singers with stiff curls and powder-soft faces. Kurt's fingers flew as he queued up video after video, clicking through each one whilst Blaine reminisced vocally about summers and Christmases lost to time.

"These are pretty good, I mean... I know a few of them. West Side Story is a favourite of mine."

"Really? We did that in Drama Club one year."

"Was there a club you _weren't_ in? You were obviously Tony; I bet you _begged_ to be Tony."

Blaine looked hurt. "He had the best songs to sing."

"You couldn't have been a patch on Richard Beymer."

"Who?"

"Seriously? You died before the movie came out?"

"There was a movie?"

"That's going on the list of 'Things Blaine Needs to be Educated On' right now."

"Well there's a lot I can teach you too! You barely know anything about doo-wop, nothing about rockabilly or swing, and I've seen the thing you try to pass off as dancing, you're always a step behind; you haven't even heard of Johnnie Ray or The Chordettes—"

"I told you I'd heard some Johnnie Ray."

"Only in some movie about some dirty couple."

"Grease Two!"

"Yeah, that. Whatever it is, it sounds awful—"

"It was."

"—and that still doesn't excuse the fact that you're missing out on real music. You know musical theatre, but you don't know artists. Oh you know what you should listen to next?"

Kurt tuned out as Blaine continued his chattering and scrolled through a list of various 50's playlists. Buddy Holly? He'd be good with Buddy Holly. He clicked on the link and waited for it to stream.

"—not Elvis though. I mean he's got a voice, but he's just pretty boy fodder for the teen magazines." Blaine sneered, and then stopped. His sneer slipped off his face, leaving a shocked _O_ in its wake as the first riff kicked in. Kurt felt a ripple in the air, like a wave of icy cold had broken, radiating throughout the room.

"_Turn it off."_ Blaine's voice sounded hollow and distant, his eyes glazed over in a thousand-yard stare.

"What? Are you okay?"

"Turn it _OFF!_"

The windows began to rattle, shutters flapping so that the room looked like it was rapidly blinking as the fading light from outside was cut off. Kurt felt that electrical hum travel up his arms and down the back of his neck, making his hairs stand on end and his back teeth ache. Books flew off his shelves with a resounding _–THUD- _and his radio burst into static-ey song. He panicked and fumbled to click the red x in the corner of the screen.

"Okay, okay, _stop_!" he yelled at the teenage apparition trembling with rage on his bed. Blaine's chest was heaving and his eyes burned. This was scary, what had set him off this time?

"Blaine? Blaine, what did I do?" Kurt pushed his laptop aside and shifted closer to the boy.

"I don't want to listen to that song." He said, levelly.

"Why?"

Blaine was silent, his face turned away from Kurt, still breathing heavily.

"I can help you, you know. If you'll let me." He tried, softly. Blaine didn't answer at first, his fists flexing. "And you don't even have to trash my room to get me to do it." Kurt pushed a little more. Blaine's head dropped down, the ridged line of his shoulders collapsing.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't apologise. Just let me know what's going on. I mean, you've obviously been through a lot..."

Blaine snorted, lightly.

"And you're here for a reason."

"What do you mean?" Blaine looked up sharply, brows furrowed.

"I've been looking things up, like researching ghosts and spirits," Kurt picked his laptop back up and started searching through his bookmarks. "And they say that the reason why you're still here is because you have 'unfinished business'." Kurt drew out the final words, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers. Blaine looked at him like he was crazy. "There's also this one site," Kurt said excitedly, gesturing for Blaine to sit next to him, "that says the reason why I can see you is because I'm going through a huge emotional change."

"Puberty?" Blaine questioned, squinting down at the page over Kurt's shoulder. Kurt scowled back.

"No." He snapped. "My Dad getting remarried to the guy I used to crush on's Mom. Moving house. Coming out." _Karofsky._ He thought and swallowed. His throat felt tight, he unbuttoned his collar. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Blaine staring at him curiously. He pointed to a line of text.

"See here? Madam Cassandra says that when a person is dealing with large, emotional stress, that is when they are most sensitive to any spiritual activity."

"You're going to trust that TV-book? It's covered in unicorns and sparkles."

"Listen, I had to trust a midget in Chucks and turn-ups first. I've had to broaden my horizons."

"What's wrong with my threads?" Blaine wiggled his feet.

"Nothing, if you're Richie Cunningham."

"Who?"

"Never mind, that's not going on the list. Though if you hang around my Dad long enough, you'll probably catch a surprisingly on point Fonzie impression."

Blaine shrugged, eyes still following the text on Madam Cassandra's site. "So what do they mean by unfinished business?"

"A lot of things. Things they haven't finished, messages they haven't passed on, goals they haven't accomplished, loved ones they haven't said goodbye to." Kurt turned to face Blaine, chewing on his lip nervously. "Listen, I have a proposition for you and I'm not sure how you're going to react so...just be 'cool', alright?"

Blaine's lips twisted into a half smile- half grimace. "I promise."

"I think... I think that Billy is your unfinished business." Kurt ventured, cautiously.

Blaine's features hardened but he didn't say anything.

"You've never really gotten over him; you're still in love with him... I just think that you need to see him again and let go before you can," Kurt waved a hand, "be let go _of_."

"No."

"Come on, Blaine. We've got to try—"

"No." Blaine spat. "No Billy, not now, not ever. No."

And he disappeared.

Kurt sighed; this was going to be hard. How was he supposed to help Blaine move on if he didn't want to let go? It didn't matter, once Kurt set his mind on something, he was going to follow through.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow they'd find Billy.

.o.

Kurt expected to wake up to warm sunlight on his face and the rousing strains of Oklahoma on his iPod alarm. He expected the smell of Carole's Saturday Pancakes to be wafting up the stairs. What he didn't expect was to find two humungous, triangular eyebrows inches from his face.

"Hello. You have freckles." The eyebrows said.

Kurt yelped and hastily pulled the covers over his head.

"You know, watching someone sleep kind of on the checklist for pervert!" His voice sounded high even to him, he must be hitting a register specifically for dogs and voyeuristic ghosts.

"I wasn't watching you sleep."

"So you just _happen_ to magically appear whenever I open my eyes?" Kurt snapped.

"It could happen." Blaine's voice sounded shifty even through the 100% Egyptian cotton.

"Stop watching me sleep, Blaine."

"I wasn't! I was waiting for you to get up."

Kurt tore the covers away from his face and glared at the teenager. "All night?"

Blaine gave Kurt a flat stare. "Shut your pie-hole. Anyway, get your lazy caboose out of bed; we've got a whole bunch of things to do today." He sat back on the bed and spread his arms wide. "I'm going to help you with your Glee club assignment!"

"Oh gee whizz and wowee."

"See, I knew you'd get into it."

Kurt muttered something inaudible about Patrick Swayze never being this irritating and rolled out of his bed to get showered.

"Are you okay? You're making a real kookie kinda face."

"It's called 'please don't haunt me, dead people!' and I'm making it at you." Kurt snapped.

"Alright, dad, don't blow your top."

Kurt made a strangled noise and tore a selection of clothes out of his closet.

"I'm going to get a shower, and don't you even _think_ about floating on in there." He threatened before slamming the door behind him, ignoring the shocked expression on Blaine's face.

"Kurt, are you talking to yourself again?"

Finn stood outside his bedroom door with a towel around his waist, hair dripping into his face. 6 months ago Kurt would have found this sexy as hell, right now?

"Oh shut up, Colossus." He snarled, and stalked off to the bathroom.

"_Not _a morning person."

In the steamy heat of the bathroom, post-shower, Kurt wiped the mirror and stared at himself. He did still have a few freckles, slightly faded by age and blurred by the foggy glass, but still there. He had new definition to his jaw and shoulders, his body more angular, a few inches taller. He was different. He was leaving the old Kurt behind, and still...

He stared down at the pale curve of his knuckles as he gripped the edge of the basin. And still, things weren't getting any better. He wasn't a kid anymore, but he hadn't left behind the playground taunts and being an adult brought a whole new set of problems. Problems he wasn't ready to deal with. He sighed and twisted on the faucet, running his toothbrush under the cold water. He had someone else's problems to deal with now, and he was going to set them right.

.o.

"Where are we going?"

"To a little place called Lochaven."

"What's at Lochaven? Is that where we're going to practice for your assignment?"  
Blaine drifted alongside Kurt as he walked down the street, the late fall air turning the tips of Kurt's ears pink.

"Perhaps."

"I hope it's got a dance space, I wasn't joking when I said we had to work on your steps. I don't know how you became a cheerleader."

Kurt scowled and turned a corner. "Well, your criticism of my natural rhythm is much appreciated, but we're not going to practice." Kurt kept his voice high and light.

"Where are we going then?"

"To see Billy."

"_NO." _

A trashcan flung itself across the sidewalk, spilling bits of rubbish and empty wrappers across the road.

"Blaine, stop throwing a bitch fit, we're going."

"No! I don't want to."

"Then go! But I'm still going to see him."

A neatly raked pile of leaves exploded in a flurry around him.

"Blaine, you can't just keep running away from the truth. Otherwise you're going to end up stuck here for the rest of eternity, never knowing what you could have had if you just _tried!_" Kurt yelled, batting leaves away from his mouth and eyes.

The leaves fell to the ground.

"We're here now anyway."

Blaine stared at the sign that read _Lochaven Assisted Living._

"An old people's home?"

"A retirement community. The librarian at school? She lives here, she volunteers at the library to fill her day apparently. She knows you. Knew you."

"Hmm?" Blaine's attention was focused on an old woman in a rocker on her front porch.

Kurt tripped up the front steps and knocked on the door. He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, anticipation tingling in his body. He cast a look over his shoulder to see Blaine lurking in the front yard, shoulders hunched, hands in pocket, the blue of his jeans bright against the yellowing green of the grass.

"Who are you?" A gruff, horse voice barked in his ear. Kurt's breath caught in his throat, his hands fluttering to his chest as he whipped round to see the spitting image of Robert Redford circa 2008. Mrs Elstow was right, still handsome.

"Hello? William Jenkins? My name is Kurt Hummel and I—"

"Who are you, who sent you?"

"What? I—"

"You think his is funny? Who told you that name? Get off my porch! Damn kids."

Kurt just about managed to pick his jaw up off the ground in time for the door to slam shut in his face. What the hell just happened? He looked around to see the old lady in her rocker staring at him, shaking her head.

"Don't worry about him honey, he's been miserable as sin half his life. Probably why he's still alone."

Kurt turned to face Blaine who shifted uncomfortably and squinted up at him.

"We need to talk."

.o.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** If you're enjoying this fic, the references and the songs mentioned in each chapter, why not Download The Fanmix! It's absolutely fantastic and contains loads of the songs in this fic, as well as some others. Courtesy of the most amazing **mothergoddamn**, she's one classy dame. Find it at her livejournal, **goddamnwrite**.

This chapter is dedicated to the beautiful, talented, caring and iconic Elizabeth Rosmund Taylor. Violet eyes forever bbs.

**Chapter Four**

Kurt sat cross legged on his bed watching Blaine pace agitatedly around his room.

"So what's up?"

Blaine didn't answer, looking out of the window instead.

"You know, you're the one who said we needed to talk..."

"I know."

"Well, what is it then? Because I honestly don't—"

"I didn't tell you everything. About me and Billy, I mean."

"Well, obviously."

Blaine turned. He looked thoughtful and far away, as if he was trying to remember something half-forgotten.

"We used to have these health classes, at school. We would all sit in a room and watch a PSA about personal hygiene or going through puberty, and they were awful and a drag and no one paid attention."

"Not much has changed since the 50s then. They probably use the same films." Kurt said dryly. Blaine smiled a little and ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, every so often you'd get one about the dangers of communism or how playing sports made you a better person."

Kurt scoffed and rolled his eyes, resting back on his hands.

"And one day, they had this PSA about... Homosexuals."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Blaine nodded and swallowed. "It was all about how Homosexuals were lurking in bushes. Just waiting to trap young boys and do bad things to them because they were sick and needed help."

Kurt wished he would have been shocked to hear this, but instead he muttered "of course." Sarcastically, swallowing back the bitter taste that stung the back of his throat.

"I never equated it to me. I... I liked boys, but I wasn't sick. I didn't want to hurt  
anyone or make anyone like me. I knew I liked Billy, but I never acted on it. He was just a cat- sorry,_guy_- on the football team who I was pally with. I didn't pursue him."

Kurt remembered the way he had been over Finn and felt uncomfortable. Blaine was clearly a better person than he was, he had been _awful._

"How did you become friends?" Kurt asked softly. "I mean, no offence but in my world the jocks don't exactly get pally with the theatre kids."

Blaine shrugged, "I used to go to every game. I liked football, and McKinley had a good team. Half the town would turn up to our games." An embarrassed smile crept onto his face. "Of course, the fact that I was watching eleven guys get hot and sweaty in uniform didn't exactly put a dampener on things."

"Pervert!" Kurt gasped, shaking his head in mock disappointment. The tips of Blaine's ears went red.

"Then one day, I was walking home after rehearsal and this ride pulled up next to me. And Billy wound down the window, said he recognised me from school and did I want a lift home. I accepted, and got in." Blaine raised his hand and rubbed his ear. "We talked, about football mainly; he said he used to see me at games. We liked the same music; he liked dancing but didn't want to tell anyone, we both had lame-o dads..." Blaine trailed off, a sneer creeping onto his face. He shook it off and continued.

"Anyway, after that he'd always say hi to me in the hallway, partnered up with me for Lab and give me a ride when we stayed late. Then that summer came and," Blaine dropped onto the bed next to Kurt and stared out of the window, a grin lighting up his eyes.

"I'd seen him at the pool, with his cousin. We went to the Dairy Queen, and his cousin said he had to scram, so Billy drove the two of us up to the Hill and sat on his car eating ice cream and talking, and... he kissed me."

"Just like that? Out of the blue?" Kurt remembered the collision of Karofsky's mouth against his and shuddered. "How wonderful." He said sarcastically.

"No, it was special. It was really romantic."

"I fail to see how a sexual attack could be romantic." An edge of bitterness tinged Kurt's voice. Blaine shook his head and sighed.

"It wasn't like that. Look, I'll show you. Turn your body towards me."

Kurt twisted so he was facing Blaine.

"So I was eating my cone, and it began to melt and some of it dripped down my hand, so I licked it. Like this." Blaine raised his wrist and mimed licking the length of his hand. "But I got some on my nose, so he leant over," Blaine leaned in towards Kurt, "and said 'you've got some on your face' and reached out." Blaine raised his hand to Kurt's face, Kurt felt the cold presence of Blaine's thumb brushing down his nose without touching and the closeness of Blaine's palm by his cheek, like the strange, soft tingling sensation you get when your foot falls asleep, and shivered.

"He looked into my eyes," Blaine gazed at Kurt with intent, "and he moved in closer," he murmured, his lips only a few inches from Kurt's. Kurt felt like he was about to go cross-eyed from the proximity of Blaine's face. He screwed his eyes up tight and held his breath.

"And then he kissed me." Blaine announced, sitting back. Kurt blinked.

"I can see how that would be exciting for you." He said in a small voice, still holding his breath. Blaine nodded sadly.

"Yeah."

Kurt exhaled slowly and tried to gather the last of his wits.

"Well, what's that got to do with what happened at Lochaven?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"Oh, sure, yeah. So those PSAs they used to show us. I didn't feel like they had anything to do with what Billy and I had, so I was sure that once everyone saw how in love we were, that it would be okay. They used to teach us in Sunday School that God created love, so that meant he created what we had. I didn't think it would be a problem."

"Yeah, Sunday School also teaches you that love doesn't factor into homosexuality," Kurt pointed out. "Apparently, it's only about lust."

"Well, that's the point!" Blaine exclaimed. "With all my friends and their dolls, getting their oats was this big, huge thing. I mean, obviously I wanted to spend as much time making out with Billy as possible, but that wasn't why I loved him. I loved him because of the way he made me feel, for his kindness and for his vulnerability."

Kurt pulled a face, "Vulnerability? Pervert, again."

"Shut up, fream." Blaine scoffed. Then a wistful look came over him and he sighed.

"The thing was, that what I wanted just didn't sit right with Billy. He was scared; he had all these expectations, to be the first kid in his family to go to college, to lead the winning team, to get a good job..." Blaine shook his head. "And now? He's still in Lima, he's all alone and if what that old woman said is anything to go by, he's a washed-out old fart. And he hated miserable squares like that." Blaine drew his knees towards his chest and hugged them. "And I feel like it's all my fault."

This whole not being able to touch thing was getting old. Not that Kurt was exactly the touchy-feely type, but he appreciated the comfort the squeeze of a hand could be. He hovered his hand over Blaine's shoulder and smiled a sad, half-smile.

"This is what I meant, Blaine. You have all these emotions for him you haven't dealt with...and maybe he has some he needs to get out too. Don't you think we should at least try?"

He dropped his hand back onto the bed and Blaine turned his head to face him, resting his head on his knees.

"You're right. But I think we should do more than just help me, I think we should help Billy. Help him to be happy and to accept himself, like you."

Kurt did a double take at that last line, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline.

"Well, we can't all be as lucky." He smiled weakly. They were quiet for a moment then, the only sound being the faint murmur of Finn's TV across the hall and the odd car growling past now and again. Kurt picked at a loose thread on his bedspread.

"What was it like? Kissing Billy, I mean."

"Wonderful." Blaine's face was moony. "Why? Haven't you ever kissed anyone before?"

Kurt raised his eyebrows and pulled a face, "Not one that counted."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my first kiss was with a girl from school."

"Oh, understandable. Was it good?"

"Technically, yes. But it was lacking."

Blaine nodded in agreement. "Yeah, kissing girls just doesn't have that same..."

"Je ne sais quoi?"

"No...I don't know."

Kurt stared at Blaine out of the corner of his eye, but decided to let it go. He didn't have to snark 24 hours a day.

"Have you ever kissed a boy?"

Kurt pursed his lips and scrunched up his nose. Should he tell him? They were being honest with each other, it would be safe.

"There was this one guy, off the football team..."

"I knew it! You've kissed Finn! Oh you're lucky, he is _such_ a beef-cake. Even if he is your brother. Oh, is that ooky now?"

"What? No, I didn't kiss Finn. I _wanted_ to, before our parents got together. And kind of during. In fact, that's how they got together, but that's irrelevant. It was this other boy, Karofsky. Dave Karofsky."

Blaine pressed a hand to his chest and tilted his head, smiling at Kurt. "I knew we were kindred spirits, this is just like Billy and me!"

"No, it really isn't."

"Of course it is! So what's your Kowalski like. Does he look like Brando?"

"Okay, first off, Stanley Kowalski was a violent rapist so...actually that's pretty accurate, and secondly he looks more like Brando before he died."

Blaine stared at him blankly.

"Fat, Blaine. He got fat."

"Marlon Brando got _FAT_?" Blaine stared at Kurt in shock.

"Remind me to add Island of Dr Moreau to the list." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I don't like him. He attacked my mouth and now I'm too scared to be alone in the same room with him."

"Why? Did he hurt you?"

"How about every day? He pushes me around, throws slushies in my face, calls me names." Kurt spat, face contorted in anger.

"But he likes you?"

Kurt thought about how being so close to him in the locker room had nearly reduced Karofsky to tears and the whimpering sound of frustration and pain as Kurt stopped him from kissing him again. He thought about all the times he had stopped to see Karofsky watching him from the back of a classroom or as he warmed up for football practice.

"I guess so..."

"And he's too scared to admit that he's a friend of Dorothy's?"

"What?"

"Gay!"

"Oh. Well, yes, that's glaringly obvious."

"Then we help him too! This is unreal! You help me with Billy and I help you with Karofsky."

"What? No! I don't want to help him, he makes my life miserable!"

"I'm not saying you have to go with him or anything, just that we help him understand himself. Then maybe he will leave you alone, I'm sure he's only acting like this because you're hot to trot and it's messing with his cuboid little brain."

Kurt sighed, "Flattery will get you everywhere, Blaine. Okay. We will talk to him, _once_."

Blaine whooped and bounced excitedly on the bed.

"And we will go back and talk to Billy again tomorrow. You know, he sounds a lot like Finn."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the school sweetheart, all kinds of confused, everyone always relying on him...even the vulnerability. I think that's what attracted me to him," Kurt mused. "That and he had really nice shoulders."

"Mmm," Blaine nodded in appreciation and then caught himself. "I mean, uh, I hadn't noticed."

"Whatever, shower stalker."

"You're just jealous because I've seen more than you."

"Really not," Kurt said firmly. "That ship has sailed. He makes a really good brother, though."

"How can you just turn off your emotions like that?"

"I honestly don't think they were what I thought they were in the first place. I wanted to be with someone, and he was the hottest boy in school. And sweet, and kind... he always held my jacket for me when I got tossed in the dumpster."

"Why would they do that? That's crazy!"

Kurt smiled sadly and shrugged his shoulders.

"When you're different, it takes a while for people realise that you're a human being too."

.o.

These weren't his hands.

Now, he knew that it was an odd thing to think, but...they weren't his hands. These were thicker, darker. The fingertips were slightly callused, the backs were boned more prominently than his own, not delicately, but...sculpted? No, that sounded weird. Just, defined. As if the person who they belonged to had spent a lot of time working with these hands. He felt as if he was having an out of body experience, but in someone else's body.  
Not-Him looked around and Kurt saw he was in his room, but he wasn't. Same layout, same view out of the window, but it had dark wood panelling across the walls. Kurt felt like he was in a chalet in Aspen.

There were baseball cards and black and white magazine cut outs of Hollywood leading men and ladies, cigarette adverts and playbills pasted across the wall above the bed that wasn't his.  
He felt the body turn and caught his reflection in the mirror on the far wall. Dark, curling hair parted on the side and slicked back, a jaw wider than his own and thick, black eyebrows stared back at him through hazel eyes.

He was Blaine.

He was singing. Mouthing along to words of some tune Kurt couldn't hear. He looked so sad, so lost. Blaine's hand lifted to his face and closed his eyes, plunging Kurt into darkness and the sensation of melting, like tar in the sun.

"Kurt? Kurt, wake up."

Kurt moaned in annoyance and swatted at the hand on his shoulder. "G'way..." he muttered sleepily.

"Kurt? It's me, Blaine. I need you to get up."

Blaine? Somewhere in the foggy, sleep-addled mess of Kurt's brain it registered that that wasn't completely right. He struggled to open his eyes and focus on the blurry shadow in front of him.

"Blaine? It's the middle of the night." He croaked. Thin, pale moonlight illuminated the room so that Kurt could see the Blaine hunched over him, one hand on his shoulder, shaking gently.

A hand? On his shoulder?

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't wait any longer. I had to tell you." Blaine's voice was low and thick with emotion.

"You can touch me." He wondered out loud. This is what felt so off. Blaine nodded and smiled, his hand trailing off from Kurt's shoulder and down his arm.

"You can touch me?" Kurt repeated dumbly, a question this time.

"Of course I can touch you," Blaine smiled, leaning in closer. "And I've wanted to for so long." His hand slipped under the loose hem of Kurt's shirt, skating lightly over the skin of his stomach. Kurt flinched at the icy touch and tried to shrink back into the bed.

"Wait!"

"Don't you want me to?"

"I...I don't know, this is all so sudden."

"Don't pretend like you haven't thought about it, Kurt." Blaine's eyes were intense, staring into him with purpose. "I've seen the way you look at me." He brushed the pad of his thumb along the curve of Kurt's hipbone. Kurt shivered in spite of himself and felt a twitching somewhere south of his heart.

"Now tell me, do you want me, Kurt?"

Kurt opened his mouth to protest and was silenced by a pale, cool finger.

"Be honest."

Kurt bit his lip and looked at the boy's face, tinged an eerie blue by the moonlight, his eyes dark with longing.

"Yes."

In an instant Blaine's mouth was on his, hand sliding up the naked skin of Kurt's chest. Kurt moaned, his fingers curling into the cotton shirt against Blaine's back, pulling him in closer, gasping at the hard, throbbing between his legs as Blaine ground against him.

Fuck, this was amazing. This was _golden_. It was so hot; Kurt could swear he was glowing from the feverish, tingling fire that ran under his skin, every pore oozing light.

Wait.

He _was_ glowing, everything was glowing. The light got brighter and brighter till the whole room looked as if it was on fire. Blaine pulled back and looked down on him, frowning.

"You snore."

Kurt blinked at the harsh, morning light pouring in through his windows, curtains thrown wide. He winced at the intrusion. What had just happened? Peering from under his eyelashes blearily he saw that Blaine was sitting on the edge of his bed and was looking at him with amusement.

"You snore," he repeated. "Really loudly."

Kurt started back in shock. Shit. It had been a dream. _Shit_. What should he do? Okay, he needed to start speaking soon; he looked like an absolute nut job flapping his lips like a fish on dry land.

"It's a gentlemanly snore." He muttered cautiously, suddenly very aware of the semi-erection underneath his duvet; he shifted uncomfortably.

"No, it sounds like," Blaine proceeded to make a series of raspy, grunting, snuffling sounds better associated with a wild boar.

"That's right; make fun of the living guy. We all can't be blessed with the inability to breathe." Kurt snapped, and rubbed his eyes.

"It's cute." Blaine smiled brightly, "Now, get up. I want to go with you to school."

"Why?"

"Because I haven't been to school since I died and I want to see how it's changed."

"Do you ever leave this house?"

"Sometimes." Blaine looked shifty. "Anyway, I want to see your Kowalski fella."

"Karofsky."

"Tomato, Tomahto. Come on, get up!"

"Okay, just...give me a minute."

.o.

Blaine tripped through the hallway, eyes wide, staring at everything but the direction he was going.

"You know, every time you walk through someone you are seriously freaking them out!" Kurt hissed out of the corner of his mouth as he gathered books from his locker. Several students were looking at the ceiling, trying to figure out where the sudden blast of air-con was coming from. Blaine came to a halt beside Kurt, hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels, and let out a low whistle from between his teeth.

"Everything has changed so much."

"Yeah well you would expect that in fifty years." Kurt muttered, shoving a textbook into his satchel.

"Fifty years of what?"

Kurt slammed his locker shut to see Mercedes, hand on hip and eyebrows raised, looking at him in confusion.

"Oh hey, 'Cedes. Wha—wait, what are you wearing?"

"Jeggings?"

"Why would you do that to yourself?"

"Boy, you're trippin'. I'm _rocking _this."

"The only person who could rock Jeggings, is Iggy Pop. And even he is dubious. Seriously, call me before you buy things. You clearly feel very vindictive towards money."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Blah blah blah, look I'm going to the bathroom. Wait for me here and we can go to English?"

"Sure." Kurt smiled and held out a hand for Mercedes' bag. She mouthed _thank you _and blew him a kiss as she sauntered bathroomwards. Kurt leaned against his locker to face Blaine, who was staring at Mercedes back with a soft look of wonder.

"You're best friends with a coloured girl? Coloured girls go to _this school_?"

Kurt's eyes flashed, mouth agape. He faltered for a moment and then grabbed his phone out of his pocket, shoving it against his ear.

"Did you actually just say what I think you said?" he seethed. He turned to the couple passing him in the hallway who were staring at him reproachfully. _Phone! _He mouthed frantically, gesturing to his ear and rolling his eyes in mock-boredom. They passed on and he spun back to Blaine, eyes narrowed. Blaine held his hands up in protest.

"What? I said coloured; I didn't use any bad words."

"_Coloured?_ What, is she blue?" Kurt spat, incredulously. "Look, I know you're dead and that's probably had an impact on your brain cells, but you're being incredibly racist about my best friend!"

"I'm not a racist! I listen to The Drifters and Sam Cooke and everything!" Blaine exclaimed, looking for all the world as if Kurt just kicked a puppy. _His_ puppy. His puppy that was giving kittens horsey rides on his back because that's the nice kind of puppy he is. Blaine's chin trembled.

"I only said it because I'm glad! Col- girls like Mercedes, they weren't allowed to go to my McKinley. The government only just passed legislation when I died, I don't know if it stuck. A lot of people didn't like it." He scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the floor and added in a tiny voice, "I think it's cool."

Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Okay, I get it. You died a long time ago, things were different, whatever. Just be careful about what you say to me..." he trailed off as he realised Mercedes was back from the bathroom and waiting patiently beside him. He covered over the mouthpiece of his phone.

"Hey, sorry... I'll be finished in a second."

_I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN; I'LL FOLLOW YOU UNTIL YOU LOVE ME. PAPA, PAPARAZZI  
_

It _would_ be that precise moment his phone chose to ring.

Mercedes was staring at him like he had just told her his legs were made of chicken nuggets. Kurt laughed weakly, "oh, would you look at that," and hurriedly picked up the call.

.o.

The rest of the day was stressful. In History, Blaine kept walking around the classroom and yelling out answers every time Mr. Clarkson asked a question, making Kurt grit his teeth to stop the urge to yell at him to shut up.

"Wow, tough crowd." Blaine grinned, slipping into the empty seat next to Kurt. "Do people not appreciate knowledge in the 21st century?"

"You're actually so annoying." Kurt muttered.

"LBJ's foreign policy not working for you Mr Hummel?"

This set of a Mexican wave of titters around the classroom and Kurt's face blazed. He shot Blaine, who was creased up in laughter, a sideways glare.

"No. Sorry, Sir."

By the time he got to glee, Kurt was exhausted. Trying to pay attention to his classes and keep an eye on Blaine was proving to be extremely tiring. At least he didn't have to do much here, he could sit in the corner and nod along to Mercedes and Santana's complaints as Rachel belted her way through some heartfelt ode to Finn, whilst being overlooked by Mr Schuester. Easy. He waved at Brittany who was looking over his shoulder curiously.

"Hey, Kurt. Who's your friend?"

Kurt stopped dead in his tracks. _What_? He turned to look at Blaine, who raised his hands helplessly, shaking his head.

"Oh, he's gone. Must have been the wrong room."

Thank God for that, Kurt felt his heart rate settle back into a normal rhythm as he sat down. Blaine flopped down, soundlessly, beside him. "So, are you going to sing one of the songs we looked at?"

"Ha, No." Kurt scoffed under his breath, putting his books into his satchel. "I don't have the energy, and if I don't say anything, Mr Schue will forget I haven't performed and go ahead without me."

Blaine frowned. "That's not fair."

"It's my choice." Kurt shrugged and crossed his legs. Waving as Mercedes crossed the room and sat on his other side, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Ugh, you will not _believe_ the day I've had. Coach Sylvester stopped me after lunch to tell me Ziggy Stardust wanted his pants back."

"See!"

"You said Iggy Pop."

"Same difference." Kurt waved a hand. "Have you chosen a song?"

Mercedes' face split into a sassy grin. "Boy, please. You know I'm all over it. You?"

"Mm, not today." Kurt said, wrinkling his nose. "I haven't got the drive to compete with Rachel."

Mercedes nodded sympathetically. "I hear you. Still a pity though," she said, elbowing him gently. "She's got nothing on you."

"Ain't that the truth." The two hi-fived, giggling. Kurt could hear Blaine muttering next to him.

"If I focused...well that would work for sure. I wonder if I could...can he hear me? He _can _hear me. Hmmm..."

"What are you talking about?" Kurt muttered out of the corner of his mouth whilst Mercedes checked her phone.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just figuring some things out. Also, your teacher?" Blaine pointed at Mr Schue. "He's got issues, I can tell. He can feel me." The glee director stopped mid-sentence and looked over his shoulder, scratched the back of his head and went back to writing on the board. Kurt agreed with Blaine; if he was Mr Schue, he'd have issues too.

"Okay, so! Last week, I told you to take a look at artists who have re-invented themselves over the course of their career. Madonna, Pink, Cher, Rihanna...Sarah Brightman— thank you Rachel; and to think about doing something that's completely different from your style." He slapped the chalkboard and turned to face the club.

"The Genre Hop." He stated proudly, only to be met by blank stares and Rachel's fingers wiggling in the air.

Brittany raised her hand. "Mr Schue? Can I sing Little Bunny Foo Foo?"

"Uh..."

"Mr Schue I have the _perfect _song for—"

"Not now, Rachel."

"...but doesn't Bunny Foo Foo hop?" Brittany whispered in a distressed voice to Santana. The dark haired girl stroked the blonde's back in comfort.

"Did Madonna really ever switch genres?" Tina asked Mike, confused. Mike shrugged and pulled a face.

"I wanted to sing Justin Timberlake. He went from boyband to RnB."

"Brilliant Sam, exactly what we're looking for!" he scrawled_ J.T _on the board and circled it.

"Mr Schue, I'm going to do an Alanis Morissette song. Bitch is fierce." Announced Santana, taking the pen she had been sucking on out of her mouth. The young teacher looked confused.

"But she's never reinvented herself..."

"Are you serious? She started out as the Britney Spears of Canada."

"Nice try, Santana, but I'm not falling for that. Think harder." Mr Schuester waggled his pen at her condescendingly. Santana scowled.

"Whatever. This is so gay." She flicked her long, dark ponytail off her shoulder and crossed her legs, her foot jiggling.

Kurt bit his tongue, just another day at McKinley, but he saw Blaine's eyes harden, and suddenly the pen that Santana had been clicking against her teeth exploded, smearing her plump, pretty pout with sticky black ink.

"What the hell?" She snapped, wiping at her mouth ineffectually, and unleashed a string of Spanish expletives until Mr Schue gave her a look.

"What is your problem?" Kurt hissed at Blaine as Brittany handed Santana a moist towelette. Blaine snorted.

"My problem? Cheerleaders are idiots." He sniffed. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Apparently rivalries run deep."

"Kurt, you do realise you're talking out loud, right?" Mercedes asked slowly, looking up from her phone.

"I said... Santana's been cut deep." He said, affecting a tone and nodding seriously. Mercedes shook her head wearily.

"Never try and speak ghetto again." She sighed, and leant forward to talk to Tina. From the corner of his eye, Kurt saw Blaine stand up in his chair, and place his foot gingerly on the chair in front of him.

"What are you_ doing_?" Kurt hissed through gritted teeth, he caught Mercedes shoot him a look and he smiled back nervously. Oh god, the last thing he needed was for everyone to start thinking he was crazy.

"Just watch! This is going to be off the wall."

Kurt watched as Blaine hopped his way in between the members of glee club, not even stopping as he slid a finger along Santana's bare shoulder, making her shiver. He sidled up to Mr Schue and shot Kurt a wicked grin before stretching up on his toes to whisper in the teacher's ear. Kurt bit down hard on his knuckles and shut his eyes, not daring to look.

Oh no. This wasn't happening.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Mercedes whispered, shoving him with her knee, Kurt merely whimpered in return.

"Kurt, why don't you sing first?"

Kurt opened one eye. This was it? This was Blaine's 'off the wall' plan? Was he the kind of weirdo that only needed a pan and a spoon to have fun as a child?

"Are you going to come down?"

"Mr Schue, perhaps—"

"Not now, Rachel."

"If the hobbit speaks one more time, I swear I'm going to cut her." Santana drawled. Rachel's bottom lip trembled and Finn squeezed her hand frantically, clearly terrified of any impending waterworks.

Kurt made his way to the front of the room and handed a wad of sheet music to Brad, who raised his eyebrows in appreciation. Clasping his hands together, Kurt turned to face the other members of glee club; Blaine eyeing him with mirth from the corner.

"I kind of, uh, interpreted the assignment a bit differently. I decided to choose something outside of my_own_ genre." Jesus, his hands were trembling, he was actually _nervous_. He nodded at Brad to play the opening bars, counted himself in and began.

"_In the still of the night..."_

By the third line, Mercedes, Tina, Puck and Mr Schue had joined in with the shoo-be-doo's, Rachel was swaying in her chair, still holding Finn's hand, who was beaming at Kurt like a proud father. By the bridge, Quinn, Brittany and Santana began harmonising, and Mike, Sam and Artie started some silly chair-dance routine which involved a lot of head wobbling and shoulder popping. Blaine was tapping his foot in time to the music and mouthing the words, his eyes shining.

As the last notes died away, the glee room burst into whoops, catcalls and applause. Mr Schue clapped him on the back in congratulations.

"Kurt, that was seriously the _best_ cover of a Boyz II Men song I've ever heard."

Kurt's face fell.

.o.

"Who are Boys to Men?"

Blaine was hopping across the cracks in the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pocket. Where did this jacket even come from? Sometimes it was there, sometimes it wasn't. Kurt shook his head and looked back down at his phone.

"A four-piece vocal group from the 90s. They did a lot of acapella stuff."He said distractedly, finishing off the text to his Dad to let him know he'd be late home. "You would have liked them."

"There's so much I've missed out on." Blaine said mournfully, swiping his foot at a patch of grass.

"You're telling me. I bet you didn't even know Rock Hudson was gay."

"Rock Hudson was _gay_?" Blaine looked scandalised, and slightly smug.

"Why? You think you could have tapped that?"

"Tapped what?"

"It's an expression. It means to engage in sexual intercourse with someone. To copulate like wild animals." Kurt said with a flourish.

Blaine grimaced. "Oh, delightful."

"Isn't it just?"

"Billy's favourite actor was Rock Hudson." Blaine mused. "It all makes sense now." A kid with a soccer ball ran past and Kurt bit back the witty comment that was on the tip of his tongue.

"How about Judy Garland, did you know she died?"

"_JUDY?_ Oh no!"

"Yeah, you should see what happened to her daughters... Grace Kelly died, and Marilyn Monroe too. Overdose, naked."

"Pffp...that was always going to happen." Blaine sniffed.

"Miaow. Someone's got their claws out."

"She had no class." Blaine wrinkled his nose. "Fast tramp."

"You are a very judgemental young man."

"I just appreciate talent over breasts."

"You don't like breasts? I would never have guessed." Kurt drawled sarcastically and chuckled, smiling warmly. Blaine smiled back, eyes crinkling against the apples of his cheeks. He looked at Kurt for a moment in silence.

"You sounded good today. Really good." He said softly.

"Thank you." Kurt's stomach tingled. "Did you enjoy being back at school?"

"It was strange. You all wear kooky clothes and have funny hair. Apart from that little jewish girl up front. She looked normal."

"Only in your archaic sense of fashion is Rachel Berry 'normal', Blaine."

"Why is everyone so mean to her? She seemed nice and enthusiastic." Blaine pouted.

"She is. She is also loud and annoying; she sings all the time, she talks about herself too much, she... Oh my god, you were her, weren't you?" Kurt cried, as Blaine's face turned a spectacular crimson.

"I didn't say anything!" Blaine cried in a strangled voice.

"You didn't need to. Oh, Blaine." Kurt shook his head. They crossed over the road.

"I'm not sure how I feel about your teach."

"Me either. You get used to it. How did you get him to call on me to sing?"

"Powers of persuasion! He's sensitive to me, like you just not as much. Whisper a few words in his ear and that cat melts like butter."

"Okay, that's a disgusting image." Kurt grimaced, turning a corner.

"I think I also learned how to channel my energy so I can move specific things, instead of flipping out and making your room go crazy."

"Ahh, so _that's _what that Santana thing was."

"That and she was rude."

"That's her natural state. Honestly, I think if she tried being nice her venom glands would back up and explode."

Blaine let out an explosive _Ha! _of laughter and skipped up the steps. "I need to put it to more practice though, that could have been a lucky shot." They stopped on the porch and looked at each other. Kurt fiddled with the strap on his bag and Blaine rubbed his ear nervously.

"Are you ready?"

Blaine took a deep breath, "I'm feeling a little hinky but...Yeah. I am."

Kurt knocked on the door, stepped back and waited.

.o. 

**I've made passing reference to the 1959 Ohio Civil Rights Acts, which legally prevented discrimination in employment solely based on race, color, religious beliefs, or ethnicity and guaranteed access for all citizens to public areas and facilities and private businesses. Unfortunately, schools in Lima were not fully desegregated as recently as the 80's (though, they were in violation of the 1964 Ohio Civil Rights act passed). This has all been taken from history books and I do not intend to offend anyone, so if you find any inaccuracies, let me know.**


	6. Chapter 5 Part I

**Hello you lovely lot! I have noticed that the alerts aren't getting through very well at the moment so please be aware you can always follow the story at inwhiteink at Livejournal for your convenience. Part two should be up tomorrow around the same time. **

**Also, if you're enjoying or you hate it, please let me know. I like to hear from you all. Ta ducks.**

**Chapter Five**  
Part I

Kurt knocked on the door, stepped back and waited. He turned a little to look at Blaine, who rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat nervously, without noticing Kurt. Kurt held his breath and crossed his fingers under his bagstrap. He leaned forward and knocked again, more insistently this time.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming. Keep your darn shirt on." A voice growled out from behind the door. "And if that's you again Maggie, I told you, I don't want no pot roast, I don't need no house cleaner and I like to do the mid-week crossword by myself."

The door snapped open on a short chain and Billy's watery, blue eyes peered through the chink.

"It's you again," he sneered. "I thought I told you to scram, kid."

Kurt wedged the toe of his Chelsea boot between door and frame and prayed to Kurt Geiger to forgive him.

"Mr Jenkins, hold on a second, _please_. I just want to talk."

"Get your damn foot out of my door before I crush it."

Like hell Kurt was going to let that happen, this guy had another think coming.

"Who sent you here, kid? Huh? Who put you up to this."

"No one? Please! I go to McKinley, I'm doing a paper on old sporting stars of McKinley. Mrs Elstow told me you lived nearby and to come talk to you."

"Maggie?"

Kurt nodded enthusiastically.

"You called me William, how did you know that name?"

Confusion spread across Kurt's face. "...isn't that what Billy is short for?" he asked slowly. A dark smudge of hair to his left caught his eye and Kurt saw Blaine dip his head, with a look of complete nausea twisting his features. He looked back to Billy who was eying him curiously.

"Get your foot out of the door."

"No. I won't move until you give me a valid reason for leaving! I've not done anything wrong and I just want to ask you a few questions, is that so—"

"Stop your yammering, you sound like Lina Lamont. If you don't move your foot out of the way, I can't take the chain off the door, numskull."

"Oh. Sorry." Kurt blushed, drawing his foot back sharply. The door closed and Kurt gave Blaine a tiny thumbs up. Blaine only gave him a weak half-smile in return and shuffled behind him.

"He can't see you!" Kurt hissed, but Blaine didn't answer. Kurt heard the sliding of metal against metal and the door opened again to reveal Billy, his thinning, yellowish hair tousled, in a shirt and slacks and leaning heavily on a walking stick.

"Well, you better come in." 

.o.

The first thing that Kurt noticed was that Billy's house didn't smell _anything_ like his grandmothers.

Not that that was a bad thing, per se, just that Kurt had been kind of gearing himself up for the musty, powdery smell that seemed to infiltrate the fabrics of anything touched by someone over the age of sixty. Billy's house smelled like lemony laundry detergent and old leather; which was probably something to do with the tan, beaten sofa set he had gracing the dark green carpet, that Kurt eyed critically as Billy settled himself into an armchair.

"Take a seat, uh...what was your name?"

"Kurt. Kurt Hummel." He perched on the edge of the sofa facing Billy, folding his hands over his knee. Blaine hovered next to him, looking as if he didn't know what to do with himself. Billy grunted.

"It's nice to meet you, Kurt." He didn't sound very convincing. "You say Maggie Elstow sent you here?"

"She told me where you lived, yes."

"That woman needs to stop meddling. You know she left a bundt cake on my porch last week? Tripped over it trying to get to the post office and now I have to use this damn thing." He flicked a wrist at the walking stick by his side and scowled. "So why don't you tell me why you're really here."

Kurt's eyebrow cocked automatically. So he wasn't buying the paper story? He was just going to have to plunge straight into this then. Come on Kurt, you're Michael Phelps—no, too gimpy. He was Gertrude Ederle, diving into icy depths unknown.

"Look, I don't mean to intrude Mr Jenkins but..." Kurt's eyes flickered upwards to Blaine who nodded curtly and swallowed. "Did you use to know a boy named Blaine Anderson?"

Billy's face hardened.

"I knew it. I knew you were just snooping around, coming here to dig up old dirt. Has your generation got no respect for its elders anymore? In my day we wouldn't dream of—"

"No! You've got me all wrong! I mean, yes I'm here with a different agenda to the one I gave you, but I don't want to cause you any upset"

"Then leave!" Billy snarled. Blaine shook his head and mouthed _think of something!_ Kurt's mind raced, what? What could he say to pursued him?

"Mr Jenkins, I found...uh... I found a diary! In my room. My new room. Because I recently moved house, you know? Well of course, you don't but I'm telling you now so that's okay." Oh God, he was rambling. "And...uh...and, oh my god there was all this old crap in it. The decor? _Disgusting_. You should have seen the drapes, you would have thought a blind person lived there before. So I took up the carpet, because exposed floorboards are_ so in_ this season," _Come on Kurt, wind it up._ He could see Blaine looking at him incredulously on the edge of his vision.

"But the ones underneath were a tad worse for wear, so I pulled them up too. To replace them, obviously...and underneath was this diary. Blaine's diary. The diary of a one Blaine Anderson."

Apparently, when Kurt was under stress his mind turned to Nancy Drew mysteries for inspiration. He could almost feel his common sense quitting on the spot. Billy's face was a mixture of anger and suspicion as his struggled to his feet, lumbering towards Kurt.

"Whatever, kid. I'm tired of this crap. Get out of my house." He spat, grabbing the lapel of Kurt's jacket in his gnarled fist.

"Do you _mind?_ Do you know how many thrift stores I had to scour for this? It's a McQueen original!"

"Damn fairy—"

"Hey!"

"—I don't give two snits about your fruity clothing!"

"Don't call me that!" Kurt snapped tripping over his own foot trying to twist out of Billy's grip. He was strong for an OAP, like Arnold Schwarzennegger without the Spongebob teeth. "Help me out here." He hissed at Blaine, who was hopping around the pair with an expression of wild panic spread across his face.

"Ask him about You Belong To Me!"

"What?"

"This kid is nuts." Billy muttered to himself, dragging Kurt towards the door."

"Just say it! My car radio and You Belong To Me!"

"Wait, wait! You Belong To Me?" Kurt yelled. Billy stopped dead and turned to Kurt, his features blank.

"You Belong To Me." Kurt repeated. "Blaine's chevy radio."

"On the hill!" cried out Blaine.

"On the hill."

"The picnic blanket!"

"With the picnic blanket, it's all in the diary." Jesus, this felt a particularly confusing game of Clue now. He hoped that Billy would understand what he meant. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears.

Billy let go of Kurt's lapel as if it was on fire, and Kurt frantically rushed to smooth it out. The old man staggered back to his chair, collapsing bodily into the seat. His face was drawn and his hands were trembling. Kurt hesitated, not knowing whether or not to sit down again.

"He...he wrote about that?"

Kurt looked over at Blaine; the dark haired boy was staring at Billy with a strange, sorrowful expression, his lips pressed together in a taught line.

"It's _all _about you." He answered softly.

A shaking fist flew to Billy's mouth, muffling a broken whimper. His face had drained of all colour.

"He wrote it all down. He wrote it all down and I couldn't even stop him from falling. Oh God, oh god. It was so dark and wet, the biggest storm of the summer and they came out of nowhere. How was I supposed to know? I was so young, so excited, so scared. I never thought...My best friend...Oh jesus...not a single day..." Billy looked like he was having a panic attack, chest heaving and eyes staring wide.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down!" Kurt yelped. "You need to calm down, Mr Jenkins. You've had a shock. Can I get you some water?"

"Second door on the right." Billy said in a shaky breath, motioning to the door. "Glasses are in the cupboard above the sink."

Kurt made his way to the kitchen and found a glass. Letting the faucet run for a few seconds he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The hardest part was over with. Now he just had to figure out what he and Blaine actually needed to do here. Did he just say the hardest part was over?

When he re-entered the living room Blaine was crouched by Billy's chair, back to Kurt, his fingers ghosting the edge of Billy's arm. Kurt cleared his throat and both heads snapped up, Blaine looked a little bit embarrassed.

"Here you go Mr Jenkins." Kurt handed over the glass of water. Billy nodded in thanks.

"He used to call me William; that was his special name for me. It's partly why I got so short with you, no one's called me William since the...since 1959."  
"So it's not your real name?" Kurt sank back into the shiny soft leather of the couch.  
"Nope, Willard. Willard Jenkins Jr." Billy's face softened into a small smile. "I hated it, and he _hated _Billy.

Blaine snorted. "Of course I hated it, it was so average and you—"

"I was so extraordinary, he used to say. Deserved better than a 'common nickname' like that." Billy's mouth hitched a little in the corners. "That was just his way, you know? He made the best out of something bad, put his mark on it. You would have liked him...Jesus, everyone liked him. He was beautiful." He ran a shaky hand through his hair, huffing a little. Kurt looked and saw that tears were falling openly down Blaine's face now, but he was smiling.

"I didn't know. He only referred to you as William... no wonder Mrs Elstow didn't recognise the name when I asked if she knew you." Kurt mused.

"Have you talked to Maggie about him?" Billy questioned, a wry look twisting his mouth.

"A little. She told me he was quite the star." Billy shook his head and barked out a _–ha!-_ of laughter.

"God, she was obsessed as a kid. Used to follow him around. Sighed so much people thought she had asthma."

"Did you ever tell anyone? About you and him?"

"Not a soul. I've never spoken about that summer to anyone." Billy rubbed his forehead into his hand, raising the tumbler to his lips.

"Mr Jenkins..."

"Billy. You can call me Billy, Kurt." He settled the glass down on the side table next to him.

"Billy, then. I don't mean to be...forward, but did you ever...are you..." Kurt groped for the right way to put it.

"Are you wondering if I still..." Billy cleared his throat, getting rid of the words stuck behind his teeth, and tilted his hand instead.

"Are a homosexual, yes." Kurt monotoned. Billy's eyebrows raised as he blew out his cheeks gently.

"Don't chew your words."

"I didn't know what else to say. Mrs Elstow said you never got married, but then you called those names and I was wondering..."

"Would you like me to say that he was the only one? Fit your teen ideal of everlasting love?" Something flashed over Billy's face, something hard and painful.

"I'm not asking anything of you." Kurt's eyes were on Blaine now, wondering if this is what he wanted to hear, if he was ready to think about Billy having a life without him. Blaine was sitting cross legged now, his upturned face staring at Billy, lips moving silently.

"He wasn't the only one. There were a few trips to Mexico in my younger days, the odd foray into a bar outside of town, nothing more. He wasn't the only one, but he was the only one I loved."

Kurt heard a muffled sound and saw Blaine rest his head against the arm of the chair, his eyes downcast. Billy's face sagged.

"That night. It was awful, like nothing I had ever felt. To watch someone you love die in front of you... there is no greater pain. The look on his face"

"Did they ever find out what happened?"

"He slipped. He mouthed off at Chuck Peterson and the dumb idiot pushed him. He slipped on the ground and he fell. He fell and they were holding me back and I couldn't catch him."

Kurt arranged his face into a look of shock. "So they were responsible? What did you do? Did you call the police?"

Billy suddenly looked uncomfortable, Blaine's head snapped up from the arm rest, his eyes searching Billy's face.

"No. _No_." He pleaded, his voice cracking.

"You... you didn't tell anyone, did you?" Kurt asked, half-accusingly. Billy's face sagged. His whole body seemed to cave in on itself.

"It was an accident! You could have told them it was an accident!" Blaine cried, unheard by his former lover.

"They ruled it as an accidental death anyway. They found marks in the ground where he lost his footing, the bruises were lost underneath his injuries from falling... they never meant to push him, never meant to kill him."

"If they hadn't beat him up in the first place, then he wouldn't have died." Kurt's voice was hard as agate. "You should have let someone know what happened. _The truth_."

"You think it was easy?" Billy asked, sounding wretched. "I was so young and I was scared. Scared of the questions they would ask, scared of what everyone would say..." he broke off, his voice thick and faltering.

"I saw him, you know. I saw him in the funeral parlour, dressed up in some blue suit that wasn't his with a face I hardly recognised. All padding and paint. That wasn't his face." He shook his head, his hands trembling against the arms of his chair. "I will never forget his face, I couldn't if I tried. His eyes, the way he looked as he fell... I wake up some nights screaming, because it's all I can see. Still." The old man had aged another ten years in under five minutes. Kurt could see years of hurt and anguish etched into his features, his eyes red and glistening.

"I was never the brave one."

He eyed Kurt hesitantly.

"Do you know what I was doing before I met him that night?" he started out slowly; as if the words were molasses, gluing his mouth together. "I went to see my best friend."

Confusion coloured Kurt's face, his eyes flickered to Blaine, but the boy looked shocked.

"I just wanted someone to know. I was indescribably happy, but so confused. I thought if I had someone I could talk to it might make things a bit easier. We'd been bumming around in his car and I just had to tell him. I had to tell him I was in love, about how it made me feel, and how scared I was about the way my life was changing. Everything was changing."

"So, what did he say?"

"Nothing at first, till I told him _who _I was in love with, and then he got mad. Started kicking things around, screaming that I was ill in my head, that I needed help. He didn't want me to touch him, wouldn't let me sit in his car. Told me I made him sick." Kurt went to tell Billy how awful that was but he cut him off.

"My best friend... He was Chuck Peterson, Kurt. That's how he knew where we were, who I was with. That's why I blame myself for B..._Blaine's_ death." His head dropped into his hands with a sob.

Kurt glossed over the fact that this was the first time Billy had said Blaine's name out loud, because his fingers were biting into the soft flesh of his palm and his jaw was clenched so tight he could see spots of colour in his vision. Blaine, who had been clinging to the chair with his eyes on Billy and his shoulders shaking, spun to face him.

"Kurt, help him!" He begged through his tears.

"No."

"Help him! Stay with him! He needs you, please."

"_No_." Kurt said firmly, Billy looked at him in confusion.

"Please, Kurt! He has no one else!" Blaine's face was streaked with tear marks, his neck red.

"What do you mean 'No'?"

Kurt tore his eyes away from Blaine, who was on his knees and swiping furiously at his face with his jacket arm, and looked at Billy hard. He unlocked his jaw and licked his lips carefully.

"I meant, no it wasn't your fault. And you weren't brave because you never got the chance to be. Things are different now."

"I'm too old to change who I am."

"But you're not who you are, inside, are you? This is what you pretend to be for everyone else. The person that they think you are, who you should be," _What you think they want._ Kurt sighed.

"Mr Jenkins, Billy... I want to come back, a lot, and talk. I think Blaine would have wanted that."

"Wanted me to have someone to talk to?" Billy scoffed.

"He would have wanted you to be happy? And have friends. You don't exactly look like your Mr Rodgers around here." Kurt crinkled his nose and waved a careless finger at the window behind him. "I can help you, if you want."

"Help me how, kid?"

"Someone to talk to, to help you out around the house whilst your leg heals, and you can tell me stories about Blaine and McKinley?"

Billy smiled and he shifted his focus back to Kurt.

"Wednesdays any good for you?"

.o.

As the door clicked behind them, Kurt abruptly about turned and stalked off ahead, cause Blaine to have to ghost it ahead of him to catch up.

"Kurt, I know you almost blew your top in there, but it was no big deal."

"Serious understatement, Blaine!" Kurt seethed, his heels hitting the pavement with force. "There are people out there that _murdered_ you, and you don't even care?" Blaine shook his head wearily.

"They never meant to, it was an accident."

"But they meant to _hurt you_, Billy said. And he _knew!_ He knew and he didn't even tell anyone!"

"He was scared!"

"He shouldn't have been! He should have been able to stand up for what he believed in, for who he was and who he loved!"

"We didn't have the privilege of being able to rub our sexuality in everyone's _faces!_" Blaine exploded, wind whipping Kurt in the face with a stinging blow, like a slap. Leaves and debris swirled round his ankles.

"You sound like _them_." He bit out quietly.

"Well what do you want me to say, Kurt? Things were complicated for us, okay? We couldn't be open or honest with anyone but each other; you know in some places it was illegal? What would you have done?"

Kurt gnawed on his bottom lip and stared into Blaine's hazel eyes, clouded with misery. He sighed.

"I'm sorry. I'm not mad at him. I'm just..."

He turned a corner, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and explained exactly just _how_ his kiss with Karofsky had gone down. Blaine was quiet, his face unreadable.

"And it hasn't really stopped. I mean, it got really bad before Dad and Carole's wedding, but Finn stepped in and he backed off a bit, but since the kiss...he's always there. I can feel his eyes on me, 'accidentally' brushing past me... he didn't do anything the day you came but I live each moment in fear, knowing I could turn around any corner and be face to face with The Fury."

"The fury?"

"His fist."

"Oh."

"How about I shadow you around school? And if that jock tries to lean on you, we'll bench him. Say, I'll be your hit man!"

"What can you do?"

"Hey, I'm learning." Blaine's mouth hitched into a smile and he rubbed his face with a groan. "You know, it feels really weird. Crying, when you're dead. They're there but they're not."

"Like your jacket."

"You know, I have no idea where that goes?"

"Kind of like Madonna's 'British' accent."

"As a Catholic...I have no idea what you mean."

"Don't worry about it, retro-boy." Kurt cut Blaine a sideways glance and the flicker of a wink, Blaine shrugged. Tugging at the edges of his sleeves he grimaced up at the darkening fall sky and huffed.

"Everything is going to change now." He said softly.

"It already has." 

.o.

(TBC in PART II tomorrow)


	7. Chapter 5 Part II

**Chapter Five**  
Part II

_/It's 10:28 and getting late for all you guys and gals in the prowl tonight! The temperature is a balmy 82 degrees and the heat. is. rising. So for those of you kicking up the dunes, we're gonna spin you some cool tunes.../_

"I never knew this part of the lake existed."

"It's a little more secluded, it's not as well lit, but the view is kind of okay."

"Only kind of okay?" Kurt smirked. "I don't know, it looks pretty darn good from here." He cast an appraising eye over Billy's body. The blond boy flicked him with a spray of water and Kurt ducked, giggling.

"I'm gonna lick you for that, Anderson!" Billy growled, wading closer to Kurt. _Anderson? _Something fuzzy nudged the back of Kurt's mind but he blinked it away as he realised his body was splashing through the water, trying to avoid Billy's grasp. He yelped and he threw himself backwards, out of the reach of Billy's swiping, plunging into the cool, dark water. Weeds tangled at his feet and brushed his thigh as he kicked his way back to the surface.

Spluttering through his laughter, he found his footing and sluiced water away from his face with both hands. A strong, muscular arm slid around his waist, drawing him closer and he opened his eyes to see Billy smiling down at him, blonde hair plastered to his forehead and droplets of water clinging to his cheeks and eyelashes.

"I caught you." He said simply.

"Oh, would you look at that?" Kurt purred, tilting his face upwards as Billy's mouth found his in a kiss, arms entwining round the taller boy's neck. The gentle, summer breeze sent a trail of goosebumps up Kurt's arms, chased by Billy's hands skating up his shoulders and down his back lazily, to rest on his hips. Kurt shuddered and pressed closer, sucking gently on Billy's bottom lip.

_/we're winding the clocks back for all you lovers out there, so while mom and pops tread the carpet here's You Belong To Me.../_

"Mmmm, did you hear that? Its Patti Page." Kurt broke away, turning his head to the car on the grassy edge of the lake. Billy's brows furrowed, his mouth making a moue of disappointment.

"What's your thing with all the torch singers?" He grumbled, reaching for Kurt who was wading towards the water's edge. Kurt entwined their fingers and tugged gently on Billy's arm.

"Oh shush, come with me."

"What are you doing?"

"Dance with me!" he cried, tripping backwards out of the water onto the damp, sandy dirt and pulling Billy with him.

"Blaine..." _Blaine?_

"_Dance_ with me. You love to dance, come on." He slid a hand up Billy's side, pressing against him and clasping their free hands together.

"Not in my underwear!"

"Would you rather we weren't wearing any? Come on, dance with me. He nuzzled into Billy's neck, smelling the damp, earthy smell of lake water and woods.

"You'll get mud on your clothes." Billy pointed out as Kurt spun him towards the picnic blanket where the couple had disrobed before jumping into the lake.

"Don't care." Kurt murmured. Okay, that didn't sound like him but whatever. This moment meant more than clothes. Billy sighed and squeezed him back, resting his cheek against Kurt's head as they rocked back and forth, Kurt humming the melody in contentment.

"_See the marketplace in old Algiers, send me photographs and souvenirs; just remember when a dream appears, you belong to me._" He half-sang, kissing Billy's throat softly. Billy pulled back, pressing a kiss to Kurt's lips before resting their foreheads together.

"_I'll be so alone, without you_," He sang in a scratchy whisper. "_Maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue."_

"You're so corny."

"You sang first!"

"Yeah, but you were singing _to _me."

"That's because you do. Belong to me, I mean. I... I really care about you, Blaine." There he went again with that Blaine nonsense. Kurt tried to open his mouth to correct him but he couldn't, he was already saying,

"I care about you too, Billy." And enveloping the other boy in a crushing kiss. He felt Billy sinking, tugging him down gently with him to sit on the itchy, woollen blanket. He clasped the blond haired boy closer, swinging a leg over his lap and lacing his fingers through damp hair.

_/fly the ocean in a silver plane, see the jungle when it's wet with rain. Just remember till you're home again /_

"_You belong to me._" Billy punctuated each long note with a kiss across Kurt's jaw, fingers stroking down the length of his spine, cradling the small of his back as he pressed Kurt down into the scratchy softness of the blanket.

"Ow! Ow! A rock!" Kurt arched his back at the sharp spark of pain. This was _so_ not how things went down in the movies. Smooth, Hummel.

"Are you sure? Where?" Billy brushed underneath Kurt's back, biting his lip in worry. He grabbed a handful of his jeans and tossed them aside to make room. Something small and hard tumbled out and in the gloom Kurt could make out the darkening flush on Billy's neck and chest. He craned his neck to see what it was and oh. It was that. His stomach clenched and Kurt honestly didn't know if it was in delight or apprehension.  
He heard Billy mumble something about wanting to look smooth and prepared and he swallowed back a quip about that being what it was made for. He looked back up at the footballer as he stopped his hand from pushing the object away. He brought his palm up to his face and kissed it gently.

"It's okay, it's gone. The rock, I mean." Kurt smiled; fingers weaving round the back of Billy's neck and drawing him back in for a slow, languid kiss. The nervous butterflies inside him fluttered around his pounding heart.

_/__Another smoocher__ for you guys and gals, so grab someone you love and hold 'em close.../_

"Hey, hey." Billy murmered, smoothing Kurt's hair away from his face tenderly. "Are you sure about this?" his lips were mere centimetres from Kurt's and it took all his willpower not to devour him.

"No one can see, we've got the car and the trees—"

"No, I mean are you _ready._ For this?"

Kurt felt himself hesitate, though the heat in his stomach was screaming _yes! yes! yes!_ "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Are you?"

"Kind of. Yes. I don't know. I want to?" Billy blurted, his drying hair hanging in his eyes. Kurt combed a few strands back with his fingers, stroking the other boy's temple with his thumb.

"I want to too." His voice was small, but firm.

"Okay." Billy breathed, relaxing against him. "But it's not important?"

"No."

"And you won't break up with me because of it?"

"Do you think I'm nuts?" Kurt scoffed. Billy let a smile bloom on his face, his eyes searching Kurt's hungrily.

_/My love for you will forever burn.../_

"No. You're beautiful." He dipped his head and his mouth met Kurt's again as a shaking hand slipped between their bodies, pressing between Kurt's legs. He winced at the sensation of the wet cotton of his underpants chafing against his erection.

"This is really uncomfortable."

"Me? Am I hurting you?"

"No, my underwear. It's cold."

Kurt wriggled his hips as Billy helped him free himself from the sodden material, before shucking off his own at double-speed. Kurt's groin felt chill and damp against the heat of Billy's thigh, which was nudging his legs apart gently, and shivered as the pad of one calloused finger brushed something cold and slippery between his thighs. He moaned as Billy rocked against him, showering his face in kisses. He whimpered in pleasure at the teeth scraping against his earlobe, sucking at the soft skin of his neck, lips ghosting along his jawline and muttering _Blaine, Blaine, Blaine_, and gasped into Billy's shoulder as one slick, moist finger eased its way inside of him.

Wait, _Blaine? _It was pounding in his head like a drum __, the music from the radio growing louder and louder.

_/Just kiss me dear and hold me tight for you know this is not our last time.../_

He could still feel Billy moving against him, but distantly. As if he was being sucked from his body like marrow from a bone.

Not his body.

_/Though we must part, theres no reason to cry. Just say so long darling.../_

Blaine's body.

_/Because lovers never say goodbye.../_

Kurt awoke with a jolt as if he had been dropped back into himself from a height. He blinked his eyes back into focus. He was alone in his room, the light outside his window was dull and grey, he squinted at the flashing red numbers on his alarm clock. 4am. He tried to call out for Blaine, but his jaw felt rusty and tight.

"_Blaine?" _he croaked into the dark, his throat felt scratchy and thick. "Blaine?" He tried again.

"Shhh, hey; I'm here." A voice soothed from the edge of his bed and the crouched figure of the dark haired ghost materialised into view. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I had uh... a dream." He mumbled, clearing his throat. His head felt stuffed with cotton wool still.

"Was it a nightmare? It's okay, my cousin Doug used to get nightmares right up until he was in his twenties. Peed the bed and everything."

"He... What? What made him stop?"

"Oh, he got shot in Korea."

"...okay. Well, no. That's not the kind of dream I meant. I had a dream about you."

"Did you?" There was a tinge of amusement to Blaine's voice that made Kurt pray that the sky wasn't light enough to show how spectacularly scarlet his face was.

"I had a dream where I _was _you." He clarified. Blaine's face crinkled in bewilderment.

"You _were_ me?"

"I...I think it as a memory," Kurt propped himself up on his elbows. "I was at a lake..."

Blaine's face was impassive. Kurt frowned.

"Picnic blanket? You Belong To Me?"

"Oh that's just from what I told you to tell Billy yesterday."

"Swimming in the lake? The Flamingos?" Kurt's eyes narrowed. _"Vaseline?"_

If he could have seen Blaine's face properly, Kurt knew it probably would have blanched.

"_Oh_." The ghost squeaked.

"Why are you in my head, Blaine?" Kurt snapped.

"I don't know why! Keep your lid on, if anything I should be mad at _you _for spying on one of my most intimate moments."

"I didn't spy."

Realisation dawned on Blaine's face and his jaw hardened.

"You stay out of my memories!"

"You stay out of my head! Now, I'm going back to sleep and if I so much as catch a whiff of malt-shop in the air I'm going to make your afterlife a living hell." He glared at Blaine and threw himself onto his other side. It wasn't fair, he was never going to get kissed by someone that liked _him_. It was always meant for someone else. Never mind, tomorrow he would take a look at Madam Cassandra's site, see what she had to say on the matter. Kurt screwed up his eyes and prayed that Billy would stay out of his dreams.

But not that hard. 

.o.

"This time, no making me look like a crazy person in front of my friends."

"Right."

"And no exploding pens!"

"If they're cool, I'm cool."

"Whatever, Riff. Promise me you're not going to go all Subway Guy on me."

"Subway guy?"

"It's on the list."

"Fine, whatever. Yes. I'll stay low. Man, you're a real buzzkill."

"Shut up. People are here and I need to look like I'm not singing along to the radio in my fillings."

Kurt tossed his head and lifted his chin, strutting down the hallway as if it were a catwalk. He waved at Brittany as she tripped down the hallway, pinkies linked with Santana. Blaine blinked and followed the swinging of their pleated skirts as they sauntered past, ponytails bobbing in unison.

"Is she a Dietrich?" Blaine asked in awe.

"Hmm? Is she German?" Kurt tilted his head and contemplated it. "Maybe... she's got that whole Aryan-Avatar thing going on..."

"No! Is she a Kiki, a _lesbian_?" Blaine hissed gleefully.

Kurt sighed and shrugged. "No one knows, they're very close. Now be quiet."

The words had barely left his lips before they were smushed up against hard, cold metal.

"Fag." The word sounded so toneless, so routine, yet he felt fear his hit stomach like a boulder, as he unpeeled himself off his locker to see the retreating form of Dave Karofsky. Anger rose in the back of his throat, or was it just bile? Kurt couldn't tell anymore.

"Deadbeat!" He yelled after him, trying to control the shaking that threatened to take over his entire body. He saw Blaine clench his fists, his face thunderous.

"Jesus, _No!_"

Too late, a whipcrack of electricity surged through the neon strip lights above his head and Karofsky slammed into the lockers on the other side of the hallway, knocking over some pint-sized freshman with a too-large backpack. Sprawled on the floor, all eyes were on him flailing on his back like a wounded turtle, tangled up in freshman-backpack and loose papers.

When he finally managed to free himself Karofsky's eyes were on Kurt. They were wild, tinged with fear. He made a slicing motion across his throat, face hard and red, and stormed away, ripping down a poster as he went.

Needless to say, Blaine found it all to be most amusing.

"Did you _see _that? He went _nuts!"_ He giggled; God, he was practically _skipping_ after Kurt down the hall.

"Yes, I saw." Kurt muttered.

"Did you see me freak out? How unreal was that? That was by far the coolest thing I've ever done. Man, I creamed him good."

"Creamed him? Ew, kill yourself." He grimaced in disdain.

"Too late."

"You're so unfunny I think I just passed a kidney stone." Kurt rolled his eyes and pushed open the door in front of him. "Get inside."

Peeking through the window on the door, he checked to make sure the hallway was clear and then turned to glare at Blaine.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Protecting you?" Blaine blinked, settling onto a desk.

"Thanks, but I don't need protecting." Kurt folded his arms across his chest stiffly.

"Well clearly you do, he's beating on you and you're not doing anything back."

"Because I don't have a deathwish!"

"Well, mine's already been granted so..." Blaine shrugged.

"You're just calling attention to me."

"Oh take a running leap, fream. It's just for kicks. He won't touch you, and if he does? I'm here. I told you this yesterday."

"Just...be more careful. Nothing that big again. _Ever._"

"Okay pops, jeez louise." Blaine rolled his eyes and hopped off the table. "Can we go to Spanish now?"

"How do you even _know _that? Stalker."

Blaine was mostly good throughout the day, in Spanish he only pulled out Azimio's chair a little bit, not enough so that anyone would notice, but far enough so that Azimio lost his balance and collapsed into a heap on the ground to an earth-shattering chorus of laughter from the rest of teh class. Mr Schue didn't even bother hiding his amused smile as he asked the room to settle down and Kurt winked soundlessly at Blaine in appreciation.  
Between classes, Blaine had managed to untie Karofsky's shoelaces so that as he walked down the hall he caught his foot and tripped, falling face-first into Coach Bieste's bosom. Bieste had growled something about sticking him in the outhouse if he wanted to take crap off of people and had hauled him away. It took all the strength Kurt had not to start crying with laughter.

In English, Blaine sat in the back of the classroom behind Kurt, trying to manipulate a piece of chalk into moving. The only person who even remotely noticed a small, white chunk of chalk hovering in the air for a few seconds of time before falling to the ground was Brett, who was so buzzed he thought his Baby G had turned into Bernard's Watch and that he was time-manipulating a spitwad.

At lunch he had sat with Mercedes and Tina, who hadn't noticed Kurt's muttered responses to Blaine as he had pretended he was reading texts out loud as he wrote them. This was proving to be a most ingenious idea, no one had cottoned on to the fact that his only friends in the world were all sitting around him and who would he have to text? Occasionally he would write something out to Blaine and leave it open for him to read over his shoulder. It was even kind of fun. From across the lunch hall he had seen Brittany smiling in her vauge and airy way at him; at least he _thought_ it was at him, she barely ever made proper eye contact. He wiggled his fingers at her and she blew him a kiss back.  
It was nice to know that he still had the cheerleaders on his side, even if the football team was on his back, and it was nice to know that he still had Brittany especially. His first kiss, his first beard. Every boy remembers his first beard. Some even marry them!

It was in the middle of wondering what it would be like to be Mr Brittany S. Peirce that she had given him the strangest look before upping and leaving the lunch hall and Kurt didn't know why.

That aside, he was feeling pretty good as he air-kissed Mercedes goodbye and strolled over to his car at the end of the day. Thank God his Dad had granted him permission to drive it again, he had missed his baby, even if Blaine had turned his nose up and said that it lacked the classic elegance of _his_Chevy and was nowhere as cool as a Cadillac. What did he know; wings are so outdated they don't even use them on Kotex anymore.

Yeah, he was feeling pretty good till the meaty smack of the heel of Karofsky's hand hitting his shoulder rang out, causing him to trip over his foot. Palms outstretched, Kurt crashed into the back of his car and rolled to face the boy.

"I know it's you who's been punking me all day, Hummel and I'm not going to take it from a fucked up little fucking queer like you." He jabbed Kurt in the chest with a thick finger. Kurt licked his lips and summoned his strength. _Courage, Kurt. Courage._

"There you go with the queers and the fucks again, Karofsky. Methinks you have it on the brain." Karofsky looked puzzled.

"Queer fucking, Dave. You want to fuck a queer." Kurt drawled, digging his heels into the ground to stop his knees from knocking.

"Shut up!"

"Look, _you_ were the one that kissed _me._ It's not like I was on my knees begging for you to stick your tongue down my throat." Kurt snarled, his heart jackhammering behind his ribs. Karofsky raised his fist.

"We've been here before. Don't you ever want to try something new? Or is that what the kiss was about?" He said in mock realisation.

Karofsky made a broken sound, somewhere between a scream and a sob and yelled, "I'm going to kill you!" before pulling back his arm to strike.

But he couldn't.

Blaine's hands were closed around Karofsky's fist, and the boy was leaning into him with all his ghostly might. Karofsky tried to push his hand forwards, but it wouldn't budge. He looked terrified. He dropped his arm, staggering backwards, eyes wide with shock and jaw bouncing off his knees.

"'The fuck..." he stuttered under his breath, "What the hell is wrong with you, Hummel? It's like picking a fight with David Copperfield!" He yelped as Blaine caused a shower of gravel to hit him with force.

"_THE FUCK_ IS THIS, HUMMEL? _JESUS_!" he yelled in a strangled voice. "I'M NOT GOING TO PROM IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE THERE!" and fled, tiny pebbles pelting him on the way.

Kurt relaxed against his car and took in a series of long, shakey breaths.

"What was that?"

"Huh?"

"You tell me to not come to your rescue, because it attracts attention and then you _goad _him into a fight?"

"Just forget it, Blaine."

"No! I don't understand; why would you do that?"

"Because I don't know any other way to be! Because I've always had to fight back, tooth and nail and knowing that the bigger the bitch, the less likely to go down in a fight."

"Yeah but not up against a fucking _bear_, Christ!"

Kurt shrugged. "You're the one who wanted to help him out. You decide what the best way to deal with him is." And he wrenched open his car door and threw himself in, slamming the door shut behind him.

.o.


	8. Chapter 6

**Well, this was meant to be posted Friday, but I happened to be bumming around Cardiff, so I hope you will forgive me. I'll try and get the next chap up early so you can have two in one week again.**

**Also, is anyone still interested in this? I'm worried that you feel it's going on too long or not really getting anywhere so... let me know. Please. Thank you. You're all lovely.**

**Chapter Six**

As the weeks went on, Kurt started to see Billy in a different light. Whenever he talked about Blaine or High School he smiled and laughed, but it never quite reached his eyes. Kurt didn't need to be a mind reader to see the years of sorrow and pain etched into the lines of the old man's face.

The strangest thing about Billy's house was the lack of pictures around the place. Kurt's house had been full of pictures of him and his dad, Kurt as a child avoiding sand at the beach, Kurt on a carousel at the fair, Burt as a teenager playing baseball and a few of his mother tucked away inside leather bound photo albums. Kurt had one on his dresser of her in the grass, hair blowing in the wind and laughing; it was his favourite. Billy had hardly any.

He had a picture of his niece on her wedding day with two passport-sized photos of her kids tucked into the frame, one of his parents at his High School graduation and one of him in a tracksuit on the McKinley High football field in a fancy frame. _"Connie gave me that on my 60th birthday," _he had said. _"Can't bring myself to hide it away." _Kurt had tried to ask him why he wanted to hide the photo away, but Billy had waved him off with a brusque hand and demanded to know why exactly did he have to moisturise after he shaved? He hadn't had the heart to ask him again after that. If Billy wanted him to know, he would tell him when he was ready.

Blaine never said much during these afternoons. He spent a great deal of time watching and listening, half-smiling every time Billy brought up a shared memory, or drifting off into different rooms. Kurt never asked what he was doing in these moments in time, not only because he would feel like he was intruding, but because he enjoyed those moments alone with Billy.

When Billy's carburettor failed, Kurt had fixed it for him, listening to Billy recount particularly thrilling games he had lead as a coach; when the cold weather had aggravated Billy's bad hip, Kurt had gone grocery shopping for him, ignoring Billy's grousing about the 'heart friendly' produce he had picked out for him. He let Kurt change his evening meals, buy him new outfits tailored to his tastes (Kurt rather thought the _A Single Man_ look worked for him) and now he was trying to enforce a skincare regime on him

"What do I need all this stuff for anyway? I'm not trying to impress anybody."

"No, but it doesn't mean you have to punish your face for it. The years haven't been kind to your face, Robert Redford, and your skin is so dry, your _eyebrows_ have dandruff." Kurt said pointedly, handing him a Clinique bottle. "Here. It's not scented, it's made especially for men and it's in a delightfully_ grey _bottle so you don't have to whine at me for it looking too 'fruity'."

"You gave me Elizabeth Arden, kid. Rainbow striped Elizabeth Arden."

"It was limited edition! God, you have no taste at all. How did I end up with you?" Kurt pushed him gently on the shoulder in mock-irritation and smiled. Billy turned the bottle over in his hands and smiled back ruefully.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Kurt."

"You would be miserable and hungry." He quipped, pulling tomatoes and lettuce out of a grocery bag.

"Sounds about right." Billy agreed, placing the bottle down on the side. He watched Kurt as he made his way around his small kitchen. "Why do you come here?" He asked softly, leaning against the counter. "It's not like you're getting anything out of this arrangement."

"I am. Trust me." Kurt was careful not to look Billy in the eye; he didn't think_ 'your dead boyfriend haunts my bedroom and won't stop talking about how he isn't over you' _would go down to well at the moment. "Besides, I couldn't stand the thought of you being harassed by old ladies. I'm like your bodyguard."

"Well if there was anyone you could fight off, it would probably be old ladies."

"Hey, watch your mouth, Walter Breuning. I happen to be surprisingly strong."

"With those twiggy arms? I think you'd lose in an arm wrestle against osteoporosis."

"Shut up! Did you know I lead the football team in their only winning game of the season last year?"

"Sure, Kurt."

Kurt waved a cucumber indignantly. "I did! I was the kicker." Billy eyed him with meaning, gesturing to his spray-on jeans and winklepickers.

"Gay kids can play sports, _you_ should know that." Kurt said pointedly. He saw Billy's shoulders stiffen, his frame rigid.

"You're still not comfortable with it, are you?"

"Don't get me wrong, Kurt. I like having you here and talking to you about Blaine, I'm grateful for everything you do for me but...but just because... I mean, I'm not..."

Kurt placed his hand lightly on the crook of Billy's elbow and looked him dead in the eye.

"One day, you will be able to say it. _That's_ why I'm here." He removed his hand and went back to pulling leaves off of the head of lettuce. "That and you've got gossip on young Coach Sylvester."

"Ahhh, Sue. My little protégé." Billy pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "You know, she used to follow me around at practices and hype me up. It was like having a daughter... or a particularly rabid dog. Did you know she was the first cheerleader ever to wear track pants?"

"I can imagine." Kurt pulled a face, slicing into the cucumber. He was quiet for a moment and then said, "You're going to have to do it someday, you know." In an offhand manner.

"Do what?"

"Talk about your sexuality."

"What sexuality." Billy muttered darkly, picking up a cherry tomato.

"You've had sex with men, you have women throwing themselves at your feet and you have a questionable amount of Rock Hudson movies." Kurt raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"I call that my life, and I'm not about to put a label on it for you or anybody else." Billy said levelly, popping the tomato into his mouth. "You kids nowadays are obsessed with it. I'm _this_, I'm _that. _It's like you can only define yourself by the way other people see you. I'm almost 70 years old, how about that?" Kurt made a face but didn't say anything. He continued to cut in silence, musing on the route Billy's life had taken after high school.

"Did you end up going to college?"

"Nah. Finished High School, took a summer job at a football camp and then came back as the coach assistant. I didn't feel like doing much after it all happened."

"What did your parent's say?"

"They were disappointed... but they didn't mind the money, and I was good at what I did. They were proud of me, in the end."

"And you?"

"Hm?"

"Were you proud of yourself?"

Billy didn't answer. They left soon after that.

On the drive home, Blaine was quiet; uncharacteristically so. Usually he chattered on non-stop like the male Rachel Berry he was, discussing the day's events and what they were going to do for the rest of the week till Kurt felt like he was part of some old, married couple; but today he only pointed out the occasional modern gadget with soft surprise. Kurt tried to tease him about clinging to the past but he only shrugged and stated that he 'preferred Minidiscs', which had left Kurt wracking his brain trying to understand.

"Hey Dad! I'm back from Mr. Jenkins'." He called out, hanging his scarf on a hook. Burt came out of the kitchen, drying his hands.

"So I see. How was he?"

"Good. He said his hip is feeling better."

"That's great! Did you tell him part for his car was on the house?"

"Of course, he said thanks. In fact I think he nearly burst with gratitude. Do you want some tea?" Kurt asked, picking up the kettle and shaking it enquiringly.  
"Nah, I'm fine."

"God, I do. It's freezing out there." He turned to see his dad staring at him, a tender expression softening his features.

"What?"

"I'm proud of you, Kurt." Burt placed the towel on the table top and walked towards Kurt, and clasped his shoulder, squeezing it warmly. "I'm proud of you for doing this you know. I don't know what made you want to in the first place, but I'm proud of you for doing it. Hell, I'm proud of who you are in general." Burt pulled his son into a tight embrace and Kurt felt the back of his throat tickling.

"Well, I learned from the best." He said gently, squeezing back. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too." Burt broke away, patting Kurt's back. "Now...go do your homework or something." He waved a hand absently and scratched at his nose.

"You're a sap, Dad." Kurt chuckled as his father turned to leave the room with a sniff.

"Yeah whatever, leave me alone." He called over his shoulder. Kurt smiled, he turned to say something to Blaine, but the boy was no longer in the room. He frowned in confusion and went back to his neglected tea.

When he entered his room, Blaine was lying flat on his bed, hands on his stomach and staring at the ceiling.

"Hey." He said quietly, shutting the door behind him. "Why did you go?"

"Hey." Blaine's voice was so soft Kurt hardly registered that he had said anything at all.

"Are you okay? You seem kinda..." Kurt's mouth tugged itself down into a sad grimace.  
"Hmm? Oh, no. It's nothing really."  
"Well, it must be _something. _You've been quiet since we left Billy's."

Blaine shrugged as Kurt sank into the soft comforter on his bed, hands wrapped around his cup of tea.

"Blaine, come on."

He sighed, fiddling with a button on his shirt, and shook his head.

"It's lame, really. Just, you know...it's going to be Christmas soon and..." he trailed off, gnawing on his bottom lip.

"When you and your old man were talking, just about how proud he was of you? It made me think about _my _Dad, and how it wasn't the same at all.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he never really understood me. He didn't understand why I wanted to perform and sing instead of—" Blaine pulled a face and waved a hand absently. "I don't know, becoming an accountant or something. Be more like him, more like my brother." His face settled into a soft sneer. "I always hated math."

Kurt thought back to the newspaper cutting he had found about Blaine's death, and how the police had found his body after his father reported the car missing. The operative word there seemed to be car. Had his dad even wondered where Blaine was? The car was his, after all.

"I spent most of my life feeling like he didn't care whether I was alive or dead, as long as it reflected well on the family. Everything was always about how it could benefit him, make his company look good. It didn't matter that I got good grades, it didn't matter that I was polite and charming and mothers loved me. It mattered that I didn't want to do what he wanted me to do, and he could barely bring himself to look at me because of it."

"Company?"

"Yeah, Anderson's Footwear."

"You're one of _those _Andersons? Wow."

"You know of us?" An edge of bitterness tinged Blaine's voice.

"Yeah, they closed down when I was still a kid though."

"Good." He said quietly, flexing his fist.

Kurt felt awful. At one point in time his dad was the only thing he had in the world, and to know he was by his side and loved him no matter what was the most important thing to him. Friends, clothes, boys... none of those things could hold a candle to the love that he had for his dad; for Blaine to say that his dad didn't care if he lived or died was heartwrenching.

Sometimes he felt like he shared more than just his room with Blaine, like their lives were entwined in a Gordian knot; other times he felt as if he could never begin to understand the other boy at all. He wanted to. More than anything he wanted to understand, and make it right.

He had to.

.o.

A desk. A chair. A hard wooden chair, beneath him. Textbooks and paper, lines of French. Kurt shook the fuzziness from his head. How did he get here? Had he been on autopilot all evening?

There was a quick knock on his door and before he could answer a head of tumbling, brown curls popped around the corner and hissed "I need to talk to you!" He didn't recognise the face, it was all snubbed nose, wide, dark eyes and a round little chin. Plus it was a girl, and as friendly as he was with the fairer sex, Kurt wasn't used to them randomly appearing in his room whenever they felt like it.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he felt his mouth say, and he knew he was stuck inside Blaine again._Letmeoutletmeoutletmeout _he chanted, trying to will himself out of the dream. Nothing.

"If I tell you, you have to_ promise _not to tell Mom or Dad. Especially not Daddy."

"What you gonna give me?"

"Blaine! _Promise!"_

"I promise, I promise! What's the word, bird?"

"You're such a nut." The girl scowled. Kurt was glad to notice she didn't share the same eyebrow gene as Blaine, but she sure as hell was trying.

"I need you to cover for me tonight."

"Why? What are you doing?" Kurt asked quickly.

"Nothing! Well nothing bad, anyway. There's a mixer at the Church Hall and I want to go. Everybody is going to be there and—" she broke off and bit her lip, looking unsure if she should continue.

"And what, Carrie?"

"And you know what Daddy is like; he won't let me have any fun. Absolutely everyone is going!"

"Who is everyone, Cardlyn?" This earned Blaine a swift kick to the shin. Kurt winced at the second-hand pain.

"AH! You _nosebleed_, what's _wrong _with you?"

"I hate it when you call me that!"

"So tell me what you're hiding! God." Kurt rubbed his leg, frowning. "Idiot." He muttered as an afterthought.

"Do you want me to do it again?"

"Carrie, shut up and stop bunny-hopping around."

"Okay. Fine. I have a boyfriend, are you happy?" She folded her arms across her chest, but she no longer looked annoyed. She looked worried and anxious.

"A _boyfriend_? Uh-oh! Do I hear wedding bells?" Kurt felt his eyebrows waggle of their own accord.

"Get fucked, Donald Duck." Carrie was blushing furiously. "Please don't tell Daddy?"

"I won't, if you tell me who he is."

"You won't know him." She sniffed.

"Carrie?" Blaine drawled, nudging her with the toe of his sneaker. His sister rolled her eyes and tugged at her hair.

"It's Larry Frank." She mumbled, hiding her face in her hands.

"Larry _Frank_?" Blaine crowed. "That kook in your math class who dedicates sonnets to his _algebra equations_?"

"He's not a kook! He's a poet! He's sensitive!" Carrie cried, her face a flaming crimson.

"Ha! Whatever. Carrie and Larry sitting in a tree! Oh hey, that rhy—_Oof_!" Kurt felt a small fist drive into his side, knocking the wind from Blaine.

"You're horrible. You're a mean, horrible older brother and I hate you." She yelled, pummelling him repeatedly with her fists.

"No you don't. Knucklehead." Kurt smiled, catching his sister by the wrists. "Come on, what else did you want to talk to me about?" Carrie wriggled free from his grasp and flopped down onto the bed behind him.

"I don't know how to dance."

"Yes you do, you dance fine."

"But not with a boy! How do you dance with a boy?"

"I wouldn't know, Carrie."

"Well, how do you dance with someone you_ like _then? Jeez louise."

"It's easy, if you like them your body just knows how to."

"Stop being mean!"

"No, I mean it. You hear a slow tune, you grab your guy—I mean, you'd grab a guy, I'd grab a girl obviously— and pull him close and your bodies just fit together right. Like clam shells. And your head is on his shoulder—"

"Like that Paul Anka song?"

"Like that Paul Anka song." Kurt nodded solemnly. "Your head is on his shoulder and you feel all light inside, like a balloon, and your heart is skipping double dutch." Blaine hummed under his breath and Kurt felt his mind flicker back to the feeling of Billy pressed against him. "If you're lucky, he might kiss you."

"I don't want Larry to kiss me; he doesn't look like he'd be any good at it."

"No, I think you're right." Carrie shot him a withering look and Kurt felt his face split into a wide grin.

"So what is it like when he kisses you?"

"Special. Warm. Magic." He said softly, still smiling.

"Is he worth it?"

"Yeah."

Carrie smiled a queer, sad smile and stared at him with those big, brown eyes. Like she knew something, like she knew Kurt was in there. Then, in a flash, her arms were around her brother's neck and her lips pressed against his cheek in a ferocious kiss.

"I'm happy for you, Blaine." She said in a tiny voice.

"Uh...thanks?"

"I love you. _So much._" She tightened her grip at these last words and Kurt could only imagine her face screwed up in force.

"Thanks, kiddo. I love you too." Kurt heard himself say, stroking Carrie's curls gently.

"Only two?"

"Thrice."

The girl broke away, giggling and dropped her arms, squeezing his hands. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but hesitated. Another, hot kiss to his cheek and a rushed whisper of _"he's one lucky guy"_ in his ear, was all her got before Kurt realised she had let go of his hands and was hopping through the door in a blur. As it closed with a soft click and Blaine rubbed his cheek, Kurt realised what she had really been saying all along.

As the dream melted away into liquid darkness, the lingering sensation of Blaine's heart swelling with love for his little sister was enough to make Kurt cry.

.o.

When he woke up, his pillow was damp with tears.

He got up, without even bothering to see where Blaine was, and locked himself in the bathroom. He needed some time to himself. Some time to _be _himself.  
Kurt stood under the shower for 20 minutes, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of someone else's happy memories. This was all getting to be too much. Why was it happening? Why him? What if the next one was of Blaine getting beaten up, or worse, _dying_? He didn't even want to think about what that felt like.

Blaine didn't come when he called out for him. Not at first, anyway. Kurt was almost 100% sure he had taken to spying on Finn when he got bored. The thought of Blaine and Finn in his head made him even more irritable for some reason, so by the time Blaine _did _show up, he was on his last nerve. It didn't help that Blaine was all grinning like Miley Cyrus after a bong hit, or that he immediately

"I don't know why I am having these dreams, but they have to stop."

"I have no control over them! I don't know why you're in my head." His expression switched to one of annoyance. "If anything, I'm the one who should be flipping out. You're seeing all _my _memories, they're_ private_." His bottom lip pushed out defiantly.

"Stop doing that, you look like one of Sting's Amazons." Kurt snapped, and then sighed in frustration. "Well what am I supposed to do? It's uncomfortable, you know?" He stopped and peered at Blaine. "Do you see into _my _head?" He asked suspiciously.

"No! I wish I could. Then _I'd_ be the one embarrassing you with all your intimate secrets." The ghost snapped indignantly.

"Well thank heaven for small graces." Kurt shot back, dripping sarcasm. "Look, something weird is going on and we've got nothing, do you agree?" Blaine nodded, arms folded across his chest.  
"Definitely kooky."

"Then we should go and see someone who does, yes?"

Blaine eyed him in suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Madam Cassandra—"

"No! Not that quack! Her TV-book-thing looks like it was written by Arthur Conan Doyle."

"Don't be ridiculous, there's not a pipe in sight." Kurt said witheringly, earning him a snort from Blaine. "She has her number on the site for one-to-one meetings, and she hasn't been wrong this far."

"She probably thinks the moon is made of cheese."

"Well, so did you until I told you about Neil Armstrong, so shut up." Blaine glared darkly and muttered_not cheese _under his breath as Kurt picked his laptop off of his bedside table. "Look, I don't trust her any more than you do, but what choice do we have?"

Blaine huffed theatrically. "_Fine_," He said in a petulant voice. "But if she's an A grade kook, I blame you."

And that is how Kurt found himself crunching down an icy, gravel path to a pretty, white house decorated in far too many fairy lights. In the frosted front garden there was a large, inflatable snowman holding a sign saying '_Santa! Stop Here!' _and a collection of glittering, wicker reindeer prancing over the lawn. He pulled a face at the tackiness of it all.

"Wowee. Someone _really_ loves Christmas."

"Noooo? _You think? _" Kurt throwing the ghost a deadpan look before groaning at a collection of garden gnomes dancing around a small, muddy pond. "I'm kind of questioning the validity of Madame Cassandra..."

"Now? After the sparkly unicorns and fairy pictures?"

Kurt glared, one gloved hand balled against his hip. Blaine rolled his eyes, throwing back his head.

"Always with the faces. You know, one day the wind's gonna change and you're going to get stuck like that."

"Thank you, Mother Blaine.

Kurt rang the doorbell and was greeted with the distant, tinkling sound of Abba's_ I Believe in Angels._Dear God, what had he let himself in for? The door swung open to reveal a vision in candy-striped knee socks and furry red hood, blonde pigtails bobbing as she bounced on her toes.

"Hey Kurt." Smiled Brittany. "Hey Kurt's ghost friend."

.o.


	9. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Thank you to all those who left such kind comments, and the ones that left constructive criticism! It has been greatly appreciated. Bear with me thought, this chapter is a bit shorter than the rest, and isn't as punchy but it is integral to the next. This chapter is dedicated to every single one of you that comments all the time, and those who have just started reading. You guys are fab. As always, if you want to get the fanmix, find it on livejournal at **goddamnwrite**.

**Chapter Seven**

Kurt watched as Mrs. Peirce poured hot water into a cup on the coffee table in front of them, and pushed it gently towards him.

"Spiced apple and camomile, it will help calm you down." She smiled, her blue eyes crinkling. Kurt took it gratefully, wrapping his hand around its warmth. "It smells like Christmas," he said, breathing in its fragrant steam.

She wasn't how Kurt had imagined Madame Cassandra. He had expected someone in flowing, chiffon-ey robes, possibly wearing some sort of head wrap, who smelled like cats and wore big, dangly earrings. The woman in front of him had a short, blonde bob, pearl earrings and a pale blue angora sweater. Kurt couldn't help but notice that, like her daughter, she had legs up the wazoo. Exactly how he had imagined Brittany's mom, but he had never in his life expected her to be the kind of person that devoted her life to tarot cards and pursuit of the supernatural. Brittany was sat next to her mom, smiling in her vacant way at Blaine who was staring back, slack jawed and waving an absent hand in front of her face.

"You're funny. I can see why Kurt likes you."

"Blaine, stop it!" Kurt hissed, and Blaine snatched his hand back with a guilty expression on his face.

"Oh, Blaine is here?" The older woman asked gently, eyes searching the area where Blaine was sat. Kurt must have looked confused because Brittany answered brightly, "Mom can't see ghost-friends." And sat back, crossing her legs. "It's just me."  
Did she just_ wink _at Blaine? No, he must have imagined that...but Blaine's ears were tinged pink. Kurt ignored the twinge in his stomach and turned his attention to Brittany's mom instead.

"Mrs. Peirce—"

"Cassandra, please," she interrupted. "Mrs. Peirce makes me sound like my mother-in-law."

"Well that's what I was going to say, you're nothing like what I expected. You're so...conservative, in comparison."

"Let me guess, you were expecting a 'Mother Earth' type, barefoot in a kaftan?"

"Pretty much."

"Isn't a kaftan like an RV?" Brittany asked Blaine, who shrugged.

"Just because I believe in the supernatural?" Kurt nodded. "Well, honey. Have you taken a look in the mirror lately? Because you're a far cry from the kind of people you're thinking of."

"Oh I'm not..." Kurt trailed off, looking at Blaine. Blaine wasn't a hologram. He wasn't being punk'd. Blaine was 100% ghost and he had known that for a while now.

"I'm sorry," He apologised. "It's just a bit of a surprise. You're Brittany's mom!" Kurt laughed, slightly erratically, and pulled at his collar, clearing his throat.

"Britt, how comes you never told me before that you could see Blaine?"

"Because he was your friend. It's not like he was hurting you or making your life difficult."

"Oh, how wrong you were," he muttered darkly, shooting a sideways glance at Blaine who was still gaping at Brittany. "How can you see ghosts anyway? Especially if your mom can't?"

"Mom says I'm special."

"Brittany is _very_ open. Her spiritual chi flows freer than_ anyone_I've ever had the pleasure of meeting." She leaned over and grasped her daughter's hand warmly. "I'm just proud that she's mine."

"_ Mooooom. _" Brittany rolled her eyes.

_Open_was never a word that Kurt had thought to use with Brittany before. Well, unless he was talking about her legs. Oh, that was mean! (but true) No! No. Kurt pushed the bitchy thought out of his head in case Madame Cassandra was a mind-reader. Thinking about it, Kurt guessed that it wasn't that Brittany was stupid, more that she just had a very different way of looking at the world.

"How long have you been able to see...people like me." Blaine asked Brittany curiously. She shrugged simply.

"Ever since I can remember. When I was four my Nana died; then she came to say goodbye."

Blaine uttered a soft _'wow_' and sat back, his eyes glued on the blonde.

"So what are you here for, Kurt?"

"Well... it's a bit odd really. We're sharing dreams."

"Sharing dreams?"

"Sometimes I share dreams with Santana." Brittany piped up brightly.

"It's more like sharing memories? Blaine's memories...uh...some particularly _intimate_ones?"

Blaine's face flushed a brilliant scarlet and he glared at Kurt. "Ratty little fink." He muttered. Madam Cassandra's face turned sharply to his direction.

"I may not be able to see you, but I can hear you young man." Blaine's mouth clapped shut and he shrank back against the sofa.

"What exactly are you worried about, experiencing Blaine's memories in your dream?"

"Are you serious? It's horrible!"

"But they are happy memories?"

"Yes, but that is irrelevant. They're not my happy memories. Not only am I intruding on someone else's past, I'm having to feel their feelings? Its messed up! _I'm _messed up. I don't know where my emotions end and Blaine's begin. And then I wake up and nothing that just went through actually happened to me, but it felt real and—ugh!" Kurt buried his face in his hands. "I don't even know what I'm saying any more."

"It's okay, I understand. It's hard to be that closely connected to someone and then be wrenched apart from them." Madam Cassandra nodded sagely as Kurt looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"It's like in ET!" Brittany cut in. "When he's at home and Elliot is at school and Elliot is drunk and kisses the girl and all the frogs go free because ET is an environmentalist. And also drunk." She shook her head sadly and wiped at her eye. "Poor ET. He had a problem."

Kurt screwed up his face in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"You and Blaine have created a bond, one that exists between the realm of the living and the dead."

"Then why doesn't he see _my _memories?"

"Because the both of you are focused on _him. _"

"See! I knew it was you being a scene-stealer!" Kurt swivelled round and brandished a finger in Blaine's face. Blaine pouted, brows furrowing.

"I'm not a scene stealer!"

"Oh, please. I'm surprised my furniture doesn't have teeth marks in it."

"Okay boys, stop bickering." Madam Cassandra pursed her lips, fixing Kurt with a stern look. He sat back, chastened. "I did say _you _were focused on him too, Kurt." Something in Cassandra's eyes said that she meant more by that then she was letting on. Kurt felt the back of his neck flush hotly.

"Well, how do I—we, stop this?"

"I don't think it's as simple as that, dear. I think both you and Blaine need to talk more, about the things you are experiencing. They are obviously important to him. Is that correct, Blaine?"

"Yes, M'am." Blaine answered almost automatically, snapping to attention.

"The importance that you place on these events, and the amount of your attention that they take up, are the reason why they are in the forefront of your mind and therefore leaking into Kurt's dreams. These are things you need to address, dear."

Kurt saw Blaine swallow thickly and stare down at his hands. What was he so afraid of? He had been the one to push Kurt into helping Billy, what wasn't he telling him?

"And me?"

"You need to figure out what you want. And face the things that you're scared to admit to yourself."

"But there isn't anything—"

"Are you happy, Kurt?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond and closed it again. Was he happy?

"You know already why you can see Blaine. Maybe it is time to take a look at those things in your life that are causing the emotional upset."

.o.

As they walked back to Kurt's car, Brittany waving them goodbye from her front porch, both boys were silent. Kurt didn't know what to say, Madam Cassandra had answered his questions but raised many new ones, and he wasn't entirely sure he could answer them. The drive back to his house was short and quiet, with a slightly tense atmosphere. From the corner of his eye he saw Blaine stare out of the window at the passing lights and people bundled up in sweaters and scarves dragging trees to cars.

"So many things have changed." Blaine's voice cut through the silence of the car like a fish through water. Kurt turned right.

"Well, it's been a long time."

"A very long time." Blaine said quietly, his elbow propped up against the window and his chin cradled in his hand. "I've out on so much."

Kurt didn't know what to say, so he kept on driving.

It wasn't long till they were home, and the first thing that hit Kurt as he walked through the door was the blast of Bing Crosby rhapsodising about the Christmases he used to know.

"Oh hey, I love this song." Blaine smiled softly, and Kurt itched to erase the sadness from his face. He wanted to say something, but any coherent thought that was about to make his way out of his mouth was crushed by the sight of Finn in a Christmas hat, packet of Orville Redenbacher in his hand, bounding towards him like an overexcited puppy.

"Kurt! Hey! Where've you been? We're gonna decorate the tree!"

"You picked a tree without me?"

"I went with Rachel to get one for glee club and thought I might as well pick one up whilst I was there. Come on! Let's make popcorn! We can string it up to put on the tree!" he grabbed Kurt's hand and attempted to drag him towards the kitchen. Kurt squawked and swatted him away.

"Finn Hudson, over my dead body are you putting something as tacky as popcorn-tinsel on that tree."

"It's _Chriiiistmaaas_, Kurt." Finn wheedled, still clinging to his hand. "Tacky is the best thing about it!"

"Oh, yeah? I've just come from Brittany's, she seems to think the same thing; and if you think I'm going to let you put up an inflatable snowman in the front yard, you've got another think coming."

"I think you mean thing."

"No, I don't. Anyway, don't change the subject. No popcorn." He said firmly, prising Finn's fingers from his wrist.

"Okay, no popcorn." Finn pouted, looking wounded. "Homemade decorations?"

"Home made as in yesterday or home made as in childhood?"

"Childhood?"

"Popsicle sticks or painted styrafoam?"

"Sticks. With sparkles."

"You have wooed me with glitter." Kurt smiled, "Okay, I'll be down in a minute? I just need to put my things away." Finn beamed, looking proud with himself.

"Cool. Be quick." And with that he loped off, whooping at the sound of _Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree_kicking in on the stereo. Kurt turned to Blaine.

"Would you like to come help?"

"I don't think I'll be much help." Blaine said sadly, passing his hand through the dangling length of Kurt's scarf. Kurt could kick himself. Of course, how insensitive did he want to be? _Do you want to help, person who no one knows exists? Ha ha! Funny! _

"Do you want me to stay with you? I can make an excuse? I mean, Dad tried to cook last night, I—"

"No thanks, I...I just need to be alone for a little while."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Blaine pressed his lips together in a half-smile. "Go on, have fun. I'll be fine." Kurt shrugged and made his way up the stairs to his room.

The rest of the evening was spent wrestling decorations that didn't match his chosen colour scheme out of Finn's hands, _'you can put them on the other tree, Finn!' 'But there isn't another one!' 'That's what you get for having bad taste.' _And singing along to Burt and Carole's dusty old record collection, which held a surprising amount of Christmas albums between the two of them.

"Mmmm, Last Christmas. You know, I had my first kiss to this song with a guy that looked _exactly _like George Michael."

"Ew, Mom."

"I'll have you know, Finn, that George was very hot back in those days."

"And also _very _gay."

"Dude, George Michael isn't gay. Have you seen the video to Faith?"

Kurt looked at Carole who just shook her head.

"I think it's sweet." Burt said, kissing Carole. "You know, I used to have hair like George Michael when I was Kurt's age. Streaks and everything." He waggled his eyebrows at Carole who raised hers appreciatively in return.

"And then you had none. How tragic."

"Bite your tongue, kid. You know baldness runs in the family."

"That's the meanest thing anyone has ever said to me." Kurt frowned. He patted his hair nervously and made the mental note to start checking his pillow for stray hairs. Carole took the record off the player, sliding it back into its sleeve.

"What's next, boys?"

"Anything but that one about the bells not ending. It makes my ears bleed."

"I can't believe you don't like The Darkness' Christmas song, Kurt. It rocks!"

"It's awful. It's full of shrieking and that snuggle-toothed weirdo prancing around in lycra."

"You wore lycra when you did that Single Ladies dance."

"I do not have snaggle teeth! Or a perm."

"They're a homige to 80's hair bands."

"An _homage_, and I forgot. That's like your kryptonite. I forgive you... sort of."

"It also has this sweet robot in it. It's got this little face that goes 'rawrgh rawrgh rawrgh'," Finn imitated opening and closing his mouth like a ventriloquist's dummy. "It's hilarious. Sometimes when Rachel used to talk too much, which was like, _all the time_, I'd pretend she was the robot. It made her think I was really listening." He looked sad for a moment and fingered a long, thin present under the tree. Kurt patted his hand gently.

"I still can't believe you two broke up. She didn't even say anything."

"Well you haven't really been spending a lot of time together recently... you've kind of been off doing your own thing. And then helping out Captain Birdseye." Finn leant forward, speaking under his breath so that he wouldn't be overheard. "Dude, are you in trouble? Is the school making you do it?"

"What? No! I help out with Billy because I want to."

"Kurt, you once said that the _thought _of wrinkles made you want to take a bath in Crème De La Mer." Finn had a point. Before Billy, Kurt did want to balk every time his grandma hugged him; but things had changed. He was enjoying Billy's company. Even if Blaine disappeared from this earth tomorrow he—no, he didn't want to think about that happening. That was like, the worst thing he could possibly think of.

But it was going to happen at some point. Right?

Kurt tried to shake off the sinking feeling in his stomach and turned his attention back to Finn, who was eyeing him curiously.

"Look, okay. Miss. Lloyd said I could earn extra credit if I helped out at an old person's home, so let's just drop it." It must have come out a tad more irritable than he meant it to because Finn looked hurt.

"Wow, fine. I was just looking out for you."

"No, Finn. I didn't mean it like that." Kurt sighed. "Come on, let's finish this and watch Home Alone. I know you really like the bit where Joe Pesci gets hit in the face with a paint can."

The tall boy grinned, his eyes misting over in nostalgia.

"He's just like this comedic _genius. _"

"Sure thing, Hudson."

.o.

"Blaine?"

Kurt pushed open his door and peered into the darkness, switching on the light he looked around. No one was there. He stepped inside and pressed the door shut behind him.

"Blaine?" He called again softly. He wasn't turning up any time soon, and Kurt had a feeling he wouldn't for a while. The radio was on, turned down low, and Kurt could make out the faint, orchestral sounds of Nat King Cole.

_/In the street he envies all those lucky boys And wanders home to last year's broken toys. I'm so sorry for that laddie, He hasn't got a daddy, The little boy that Santa Claus forgot./_

Kurt sighed and sat down on his bed. This was the worst time of year to be alone, and despite the amount of time the two of them spent together, Blaine was very much alone. Kurt remembered the first Christmas he and his dad had spent without his mom. He remembered the bright colours and cheerful noises of the department stores, the felt-tip and glitter covered cards strung up in his classroom, the paper snowflakes on the windows, and coming home to a forlorn looking tree that he and his dad had decorated half heartedly in an attempt to make things normal. They had driven to his Aunt's house on Christmas day and his Grandmother had spent most of it crying. Kurt remembered crawling up into her lap to hug her, and having her crush him against her bosom till he thought he would drown in _White Diamonds _and itchy wool.

He remembered the feeling of her damp, wrinkled cheek pressed against his. It was probably where the phobia had come from. He remembered nothing more bleak and claustrophobic than her tight embrace and the wailing sound of her crying. He had tried to wriggle free but she had only held him tighter. He didn't want to be held; he wanted to see his mother again. He wondered if Blaine missed his mom and his sister, even his dad and brother.

_/Its Christmas time on KWT and we're playing you some Back to Back Nat.../_

How long had he spent, not being able to speak to anyone, not be seen by anyone. They say there are worse things than being invisible, but when you're _actually _invisible? And dead on top of that? Jesus. And Kurt thought it was bad not being able to comfort Blaine when he was upset, but at the very least they could talk to one another. Blaine had no one. He couldn't tell Billy how he felt about him, he couldn't speak to his sister...No wonder he hadn't wanted to be around his family after he died.

Wait. This used to be Blaine's house...Blaine said he had stayed here ever since he had died. How hadn't he seen them? What had Mrs. Elstow said about Blaine's sister? Hadn't she had run away not long after Blaine's death? How comes she had never mentioned Blaine's brother? Kurt's mind started working at double-speed, piecing together the bits of information that Blaine and Billy had told him over the past few weeks. What Madam Cassandra had said was suddenly clicking into place; He knew what to do next.

Kurt picked up his laptop off of his bedside table and snapped it open. He clearly had some research to do.

_/And so I'm offering this simple phrase, to kids from one to ninety-two. Although it's been said, many times, many ways, Merry Christmas to you.../_

.o.


End file.
